The Relative Dimensions of Space
by HereBeHobbits
Summary: Ten/Rose Flatmates AU: James Noble had no idea what he was walking into when he decided to share a flat with Rose Tyler. Really, none. But it just might turn out to be the best mistake he's ever made.
1. A Wonderful Flatmate

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters nor am I making any money off of this.**

 **I am also American and have done my best to self-Brit-pick so excuse any leftover Americanisms and the American spelling. My word processor's autocorrect feature is quite determined on that last point.**

* * *

James Noble woke up with a ridiculous headache and the taste of stale beer and vomit in his mouth. He blinked sluggishly a couple times, squinting at the sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. After a few minutes' consideration, the sun seemed rather high for a November morning. After a couple of long seconds to brace himself, he rolled over and strained is neck to get a good look at the clock on his nightstand, where red back-lit numbers cheerily blinked 11:45.

 _11:45!_ James couldn't remember the last time he'd slept this late. He was a certified morning person, always had been. His boss loved it– he was never late for the morning department meetings at school.

 _School!_ James jerked violently, for a second thinking he had slept through half a school day, before clutching his throbbing temples at the movement and remembering that today was Saturday, and there was no school.

 _Right. It must be Saturday. Because Mickey's stag night was scheduled on a Friday. And Mickey's stag night was a pub crawl._ It was slowly coming back to him. Well, most of it. He vaguely remembered what happened. It began at pub near the location of Mickey and Martha's first date and moved around to various establishments near the locations of significant events in their relationship. At some point there had been a dare (proposed by Jack, no doubt) concerning some number of shots of Irish whiskey consumed in rapid succession, but after that there were a disturbing number of gaps in his memory.

 _Fuck_. He'd have to text Jack about that later. Then kill him.

An attempt at swallowing and a wince pulled him out of his thoughts. _Water,_ _I need water_. After a couple deep breaths for courage, he heaved himself out of bed and stumbled out his of his bedroom towards the kitchen. It took everything in his power not to groan aloud when he realized he was not alone. Right on cue, Rose spun around on the kitchen bar stool and smirked at his appearance.

"Beautiful day then, isn't it?" she said. James gave her the dirtiest glare he could muster as he shuffled to the cupboard to search for glasses and fumbled with the tap. Rose gave a shout of laughter through her sandwich that was like a gun going off next to James's ear. He jumped and gripped the countertop behind him for balance, splashing water down the front of his white vest top.

"Can't you whisper?" he muttered around his third massive gulp of water.

"Not really!" Rose chirped at a decidedly louder-than-normal volume. James started again and conceded defeat to his vertigo and headache, sinking down onto the linoleum and pressing the blessedly cold water glass to his forehead. Rose laughed again and walked around to stand over him so she could properly gloat. "James Noble, perfect, illustrious, always-put-together physics teacher at a posh senior school is not allowed to get completely pissed at a stag do and come back to zero teasing, not after what he put his long-suffering flatmate through last time she had her first girls' night out in _over a month_."

James glanced up at her with his best puppy eyes and what he hoped was an _extremely_ mournful expression on his face.

Rose laughed and held out her hands, taking his water glass and hauling him up from the kitchen floor. Still giggling, she guided him into the living room and to the sofa, where he gratefully collapsed and buried his face in the nearest cushion. Rose's footsteps retreated back to the kitchen, but he lifted his head to watch her return with a fresh glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen, blonde hair swishing around her shoulders. Rose must have recognized the gratitude in his eyes because she graced him with a genuinely sympathetic smile. It seemed to fill her whole face and made his insides feel warm and fuzzy.

 _She's so pretty,_ he thought suddenly. _So pretty and so kind_. The thoughts fell out of his hangover-muddled mind quite suddenly and unbidden. He blinked a couple times to reset his brain. _Girlfriend. Girlfriend. You have a girlfriend_. Rose was just a great friend. A great friend and wonderful flatmate.

"Drink some more water, take a few pills, and maybe you'll be up for your date tonight, eh?" Rose said.

James rolled his eyes and shoved his face back into the cushion, smiling in spite of himself into the back of the sofa when Rose laughed again.

"I've got to meet Martha and Tish for Martha's final dress fitting, but I'll be back in a few hours to make sure you're still alive." He felt her lean over and give him a firm pat on his shoulder before sweeping out the door.

 _A truly wonderful flatmate,_ he thought, savoring the lingering warmth on his shoulder and the smell of her perfume in the air.

* * *

 _And that's_ all _she is,_ he told himself again later that day as he dressed for dinner with Renée. _A flatmate_. People could smirk and whisper about him and Rose all they wanted but really, they were just flatmates. Quiet excellent flatmates, too, if he said so himself. They never fought– she put up with his habit of taking apart home appliances when he got bored just to see if he could put them back together (he'd say he had about a 50 percent success rate) and even tolerated his taste for spontaneous adventure (sneaking into the basement of Henrik's to see if the rumored moving mannequins were robots or students playing pranks). In return, he wasn't bothered by the fact that her cooking skills were limited to stir fry, spaghetti, and takeaway or her tendency to leave her clothes on any available surface.

He hadn't _planned_ it like this, of course. But after getting his job at the posh Melody Williams Academy in London last year and looking into the prices of decent flats in the area, he realized that unless he wanted to bunk permanently with his sister and her new husband (and he was pretty sure Donna was not above charging him rent eventually), he was going to need a flatmate. He brought this up to Donna for the first time over the phone–school was off early that Friday and she was still at work, an advertising firm.

"You know, I think the new graphic designer 'round here is also looking for a flatmate– name's Tyler, or something," she said. She must have been at the firm's print shop, because she was forced to speak quite loudly over the sound of the industrial printers. It didn't help that the print shop was in the building's basement where reception was spotty. James was having trouble hearing her, and felt like she couldn't really hear him, either.

"Tyler? So it's a bloke then? Not that I'd mind living with a girl, it's just that I'm not sure Renée would be too crazy about it, you know? I mean, she'd probably be fine with it but, new relationship and all and you never can tell with these things, you know?"

To this day, he wasn't sure what Donna thought he'd said, but she replied, "Oh no, no Tyler's great. I'm sure you'll get along famously–" Her distracted reply was cut off when someone called her name over the printers in the background. "Look, Spaceman, I've got to go, I'll text you the number, yeah?" Then she hung up.

If James had called 'Tyler' immediately after, the whole misunderstanding would have been sorted before dinner, but 'Tyler' beat him to it and texted within the hour, _Donna gave me this number– are you her brother looking for a flatmate?_

James replied at once, eager at the prospect of moving out of his older sister's home. _That's me! The name's James Noble. Well, technically it's_ Doctor _James Noble. I've a doctorate in physics, which I put to excellent use teaching at Melody Williams Academy. Though besides that, I love going on adventures of any sort, I have a telescope for stargazing in the summertime, a lot of books and very few shelves. Am I correct in assuming you're the graphic designer Tyler?_

Tyler replied quickly, _Haha, yes I suppose I am_. _I like art and chips and I have plenty of shelves._

James smiled and wrote, _Good! I love chips as well, although I suppose I'd have to seeing as I was born in Ireland, and all they eat over there are potatoes. Although did you know they originated in America? I can't imagine what they ate before they discovered potatoes._

 _I can't imagine what_ I _ate before I discovered potatoes._

They texted on and off all afternoon and into evening and James decided he rather liked this Tyler fellow. He was easy to talk to, had a quick wit, and did not mind his rambling texts and bits of trivia.

Around half-past eleven, Tyler wrote, _It's getting late– but it's been great chatting. You seem cool, James. You could move in tomorrow if you want!_

James was lounging on Donna's guest bed listening to his sister and Lee get _very_ cozy in the sitting room with a bottle of wine and a romantic comedy, so he wasn't kidding as much as Tyler might have been when he replied, _Maybe I will_.

Tyler responded with the address, flat number, and a convenient time so James put down his mobile for what he was determined would be his last night at the McAvoy's. Somehow, through all their texting, Tyler's first name and gender never came up.

* * *

The name next to the buzzer outside the flats said _Shareen Costello_ , and James was worried he had the wrong place, but when he mentioned his name to the jovial man with an American accent who answered, he was immediately allowed entry. The door to the flat was wide open, and he could hear the American's voice as well as a woman's, the thumping and scraping of furniture being moved, and a vacuum running.

He stepped in nervously, rapping his knuckles on the door over the racket. "Hello? It's James Noble…"

There was a shout from the woman and a tall, classically handsome man wearing a massive blue coat turned the corner. "So you're the new roomie," he drawled with a toothy grin.

James shifted from foot to foot but smiled brightly, "Yes, I am. As I said, James Noble. And you must be Tyler?"

The American gave him and odd look and said, "No, Rosie's still back there in Shareen's old room, did you just–?" There was a loud thump from down the hall and James missed the end of the question. He doubted he would have been able to answer it anyway, as he was completely confused by the first thing the American had said.

 _Rosie?_ James didn't have time to work out the misunderstanding when his already disorganized thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the vacuum fading and footsteps in the hall. A young woman in dusty yoga pants and cotton shirt with bottle blonde hair hurried into the main room. James blinked in shock, then struggled to contain the sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized what was going on. She saw him and gave him a wide, gorgeous smile that filled her whole face and lit up her amber eyes.

 _That smile_.

She stuck out her hand and said, "Rose Tyler."

It took him a long couple of seconds (and a chuckle from the American) for him to respond. He started, then grabbed her hand and shook it vigorously. "Right! Ty- _Rose_ Tyler, graphic designer, lover of chips and owner of multiple shelves, I'm James Noble, Donna's brother. Although I suppose you know that. I didn't realize– I wasn't expecting–" For once, his impressive gob failed him and all he could do was stand there gaping like an idiot, looking between Rose and the American, completely floundering after being caught so wrong-footed.

Rose looked at him nervously and there were a few beats of awkward silence before she seemed to remember there was a third person in the room. "Um, James, this is my friend Jack, he's helping me clean out my old flatmate's room– she wasn't exactly the tidiest person in the world. Jack, this is James–uh _Doctor_ James Noble, who might be moving in today?"

She looked searchingly at him and while part of James felt rather apprehensive at the prospect of sharing a flat with this very attractive, friendly, witty, and did he mention _attractive?_ woman, but somehow his mouth answered for him, all on its own, "Yes, I'm certainly ready to move in today. I just came by to, you know, get the lay of the land, get a feel for the relative dimensions of the space…" He trailed off for the second time in five minutes.

Jack raised his eyebrows and grinned again what James gathered must be his signature smirk. "Nice to meet you, Doc. I was just on my way out, I'm sure my girl Rosie can show you around. And don't flirt with her too much– that's my job." He winked and clapped James on the shoulder on his way out, great blue coat flapping behind him.

James offered a halfhearted wave and turned back to Rose. "Boyfriend?"

Rose huffed, "God no, just a friend. Jack flirts with anything on two legs and a beating heart. Expect him to flirt with _you_ eventually." Something of what James thought of that must have showed on his face because she laughed and said, "Don't worry, he's harmless." She smiled that wonderful smile again and waved him further into the flat. "Come on, let me show you around. I've moved all the empty shelves into your bedroom for you…"

* * *

Dubious beginning aside, James and Rose's living arrangement worked out in everyone's favor. After he got over the initial shock, it became a habit to control his more…inappropriate thoughts about her. He wasn't _really_ attracted to her, he figured. He just wasn't prepared the first time. His unruly thoughts only snuck out when he was mentally compromised– his hangover this morning, for example. Being properly drunk worked as well, and there were some weird dreams when he sustained a concussion after an incident in his teaching lab last semester, but most of the time they were simply best mates. And they both liked it that way.


	2. A Lack of Progress

"So what am I supposed to order here?" Renée said, smoothing her creme-colored skirt over her knees and glancing around the brightly colored restaurant.

"Fish tacos!" James said brightly. "Apparently they're all the rage in America now. Fish in a tortilla wrap! Who'd've thought it! But what's _really_ great about this place is they put bananas in their fruit salads. I always like a good banana. I wonder if they'd make a fruit salad of _just_ bananas for me. Wouldn't that be brilliant?"

Renée smiled and nodded and said something in vague agreement.

James shifted his weight and resisted the urge to ramble. He didn't know why he was this nervous around his long-time girlfriend. It wasn't like they'd been fighting recently. But then, they hadn't seen much of each other recently. This was supposed to be their one year anniversary dinner but somehow it was two months late. He remembered when he'd first seen her, in the French department at school on the tour the headmaster gave him on his first day. He'd thought she was absolutely beautiful, and felt an instant connection with her during his first faculty lunch. He asked her out that afternoon and had never been more excited to start a relationship. The first couple of months had been wonderful, with only a slight hiccup when Renée found out he was living with Rose. She insisted she was fine with it, but acted cool and distant for two weeks until he won her over with a bank holiday weekend in Paris, complete with a trip to Versailles. Granted, she was from Paris originally and went back to visit family all the time, but it seemed to count nonetheless. It was their first and only holiday together.

They talked about safe, school-related things over their salads– courses and curriculums and students and the like, but he remained uncomfortable and she kept avoiding his gaze. It wasn't until halfway through their entrées she finally met his eyes.

"James?"

He blinked and dropped his fork into a puddle of salsa on his plate. "Y-yes?" He couldn't tell where she was going with this, but it felt ominous. His heart started beating uncomfortably in his chest.

She took a deep breath and said, "I think we should move in together."

"So soon?" James blurted before he could stop himself.

He knew right away that was the wrong thing to say. Renée frowned. "It's not _soon_ at all, James. We've been together for over a year. Your friend Martha got engaged six months after meeting that mechanic you introduced her to…Rickey?"

"Mickey," he corrected. "And Renée, every couple is different, we just happened to be moving more slowly, nothing wrong with that!" He tried to smile and brush the topic aside.

Apparently Renée had other ideas. "But James, I feel like our relationship has… stalled or something. I mean, we used to see each other outside of school almost weekly– _more_ than weekly that first semester. I don't want us to drift apart."

"We're not drifting apart," he protested. "You were just in France for the entire summer, we're both busy teaching more courses this semester. We just haven't gotten back into a rhythm yet."

"But maybe we could find a rhythm if we move in together," Renée persisted. "Then we can see more of each other outside of school, find that spark, that _passion_ again."

"We don't need to find our passion again," James protested.

Renée cocked an eyebrow. "We're having our anniversary dinner two months late. You haven't stayed overnight at my place for longer than that. We can't just keep having lunches together at school and call that _dating_. Our relationship has to move forward. And it just makes sense. I live closer to the school, and you're over thirty and are still sharing a flat."

"But I don't mind sharing a flat, Rose and I are good friends." James cringed how whiny that sounded.

"You can be good friends with Rose and not live with her," Renée said.

"This isn't about her," James tried to backtrack. "I'm just– not ready to move in together quite yet."

Renée narrowed her eyes. James became very interested at the pink and yellow tiled tabletop. "James, something's holding you back from this relationship."

He stiffened. "Nothing's holding me back."

She gave a small sigh of frustration. "James, you asked me out on our first date after knowing me for less than twenty-four hours. After fourteen months, you're not ready to move in together?"

"Nothing's holding me back," he repeated, more quietly.

Renée's jaw clenched. "Stop lying to me. Or yourself. Something _is_ holding you back, and I–"

James glanced around uncomfortably. She was becoming quite loud. People were staring.

Renée stopped and took a deep breath. "James," she began again. "I think we should take a break. At least until you figure out if you are as committed to this as I am." She stared at him for a few long minutes, waiting for him to say something.

He didn't. He desperately wanted to, but couldn't seem to pull together a complete thought. He felt like he was still hungover from the morning, slow and confused.

Eventually, Renée got tired of waiting. She pulled some bills out of her purse and put them on the table in front of him. "Here, for dinner," she muttered. "Call me when you have an answer." Then she got up and left him staring at her empty seat.

* * *

When James finally shuffled back into the flat, he felt utterly defeated and very tired even though it was barely nine o'clock. Rose was lounging on the sofa watching her favorite science fiction program on the telly and the living area was filled with the smell of salt and vinegar and deep fried potatoes from her favorite chippy.

"You're home early," she remarked, not taking her eyes off the explosions and aliens on the screen. "How was the date?"

"Dreadful," he said shortly before collapsing on the sofa next to her and stealing a handful of chips from the newspaper packet.

Rose glanced over and her forehead pinched in concern. "Oh," she said softly. "I'm sorry. Do you– do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Her face jerked back to the telly and she looked hurt.

James wiped his fingers off on his trousers and ran his hands through his hair. "Sorry, Rose, I'm sorry, I shouldn't take it out on you." He took a deep breath and made a noise that could have been a loud sigh or a groan. "I think I've just mucked it all up quite horribly and I don't know how to fix it and I don't– I don't want to talk about it just yet, okay? I'm sorry," he pleaded, hoping he hadn't ruined two relationships in one night.

But Rose's face softened and she turned back to face him, "Oh, James, it's okay." She put down the chips and pulled him into a hug. He sank into it without hesitation and hugged her back, holding her tightly while trying to let go of his frustrations from dinner.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, until James reached for the chips again. He hadn't finished his dinner at the restaurant, he realized, and was absolutely starving. Rose laughed and handed him the remainder of the chips. "You can finish them," she said. "God knows I shouldn't if I want to fit into the horrid bridesmaid dress Martha picked out."

"I'm sure you'll look beautiful," James said through a mouthful of fried potato.

Rose smiled. "Thanks."

They watched the science fiction show for a while longer, until the credits began to roll at half past nine and Rose began cleaning up the chip crumbs and newspaper. James watched her, feeling the tension slowly drain away. "Do you want to go up to the roof tonight?" he said suddenly. "It's not too cold out yet, I promise, and it's a clear night."

"Sure." Rose grinned. "I'll get the telescope."

For the first time that night, James smiled too. "I'll get my lock-picks."


	3. Time Travelers

Residents weren't technically allowed on the roof of their building, but James had taught himself how to pick locks in uni and as a result made a habit of going places he was't supposed to. Rose found it thrilling every time, holding the bulky telescope case and keeping a lookout while James knelt by the bolt. He had discovered the roof when Jack had a party on the roof for New Year's Eve fireworks last year (having procured a key from a maintenance worker) and declared it an ideal location for stargazing. Rose mentioned she had never looked through a telescope before, James felt righteously outraged, and that night they stayed on the roof long after midnight wrapped in blankets looking at the stars.

"It's like time travel," James said. "We're looking at light given off millions of years ago. We have no idea what those stars are doing now, only what they were doing then."

"So I guess to be a space traveler, you'd also have to be a sort of time traveler," Rose said.

" _Have_ to be?" James said, throwing off his blankets and bounding over to the telescope again. "You mean you'd _get_ to be! Because that would be the best part, wouldn't it? Being able to travel anywhere in time and space!"

"If you could go anywhere– anywhere in time and space right now, where would you go?" Rose said.

"Hmmmm," James made a show of panning the telescope around, as if searching for the perfect star. "That one," he finally said, focusing on a faint star in Ursa Minor.

"Why?"

"Because…" James smiled. "Because if I get to travel in space, I also get to travel in time, and the planet around that star, in the year five billion and twenty three, is where humans set up New Earth, which is a planet just like old earth, long since engulfed by the sun, only it's better, because they can cure any disease, their cars can fly, and the grass makes the air smell like apples."

Rose marveled at his imagination. "That sounds absolutely lovely," she said. "What would you do there?"

James beamed at her, bouncing on his toes to keep warm in the January air. "Well we'd go on an adventure, of course!"

Neither of them ever questioned the plural.

* * *

"Where are we going today, Doctor?" Rose cocked her head and smiled at him from the quilt and pillows they reserved especially for the roof.

"Well…" James focused on a bright star to the left of Sirius. "How about this system, where there are two planets, one of which is called, um, Rax, ah, cor-corico, fallapat-orius." He attempted to make up the name as he was saying it, joining her on the quilt and leaning back on his elbows.

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Raxa- _what_? What sort of planet name is that?" He was usually better at this. Perhaps she should have made him go to bed instead agreeing to go star-gazing.

"Shut up. And its sister planet is called, um, Clom."

"Clom?" Rose snorted. "Now you're just giving up."

James groaned collapsed back onto a pillow.

Rose tried again. "What sort of aliens live on Raxica- Raxicorifa- What sort of aliens live on Clom?"

"Rubbish species, really," James said. "Horribly dull– not particularly dangerous or sympathetic, and not at all worth having much of an adventure around, really." He sighed. Despite his earlier enthusiasm, his energy and imagination had apparently abandoned him for the night.

They were silent for a few minutes, lying there in the pleasantly cool November air.

She turned on her side to face him. He stayed on his back, staring hopelessly into the stars they could never really explore. "Do you want to talk about it now?" she said softly.

"No," he murmured, closed his eyes.

"Do you want me to be quiet?"

"No."

"Oh." She blinked. Perhaps he wanted a distraction. "Oh, well, um. Martha looks stunning in her dress," she began, trying to keep her voice low and soothing. "Of course, she'd look stunning in anything. No wonder Mickey fell for her instantly."

James smiled slightly.

Encouraged, Rose continued, "You know he's going to mention you in his toast, everyone is. For introducing them. Do you remember that night?" She knew he did. "You had just been living here for… two weeks? And Mickey was over and we were just sitting there innocently on my sofa when you come charging in with Martha, both of you soaking wet because you were walking home from the bus stop and got caught in the surprise rainstorm. And like a gentleman, you introduced her–"

"'This is Martha Jones, medical student, part-time biology tutor at Melody Williams Academy, and absolutely brilliant human being. Martha, this is Rose Tyler, exceptional flatmate and graphic designer, lover of chips and owner of multiple shelves.'" James finished.

Rose laughed. "And all Mickey could do was just sit there staring at Martha! I said, 'This is my friend Mickey,' but you said we couldn't possibly leave it like that–"

"'Yes but _who_ are you, Rickey, _what_ are you?'" James quoted himself. They both knew this story by heart from countless re-tellings. It never failed to impress.

"And Mickey still just sat there, poor boy."

"So eventually I said, 'Martha, this is Mickey the Idiot,'" James finished, grinning widely. "We'll all have heard that story a million times by the reception."

"It's a great story," Rose said. "And Mickey's even okay with it, because he gets to end on the point that he was able to convince Martha to give an idiot her phone number before she left."

"God knows how he managed that one," James scoffed, but he was still smiling.

"And now they're getting married," Rose said softly.

"It's barely been a year." James still couldn't believe it.

"It doesn't matter," Rose said. "They're perfect for each other. They're in love, and nothing's holding them back."

At this point, James had been almost relaxed, but his hands clenched at her last statement. His eyes flew open for a second, then slammed shut.

Rose propped herself up one one elbow and peered at him. "What is it?"

"…"

"James, what is it?"

"…"

"James, I know you're upset, but just _tell me what happened_ ," she said. "Please."

"She said something was holding me back."

"What?"

James abruptly sat up, pressing his head into his hands. "Renée. Invited me to move in with her. I said I wasn't ready. She said something must be holding me back from our relationship."

"Oh, James." He looked so miserable she sat up to hug him, but he suddenly sprang up and began pacing in agitation around the telescope, gesturing about wildly and rubbing his hair.

"And the worst part is, I couldn't even _do_ anything about it! I just sat there like a complete moron while she gave me an ultimatum!"

"She gave you an ultimatum?"

"Yes! She said we should 'take a break' until I 'figure out if I'm as committed to the relationship as she is.'" He scoffed. "I've dated before. I know what that means. It means we're over unless I move in with her."

"Why does she want this?"

"I don't know!" James threw himself back onto the quilt. "She said our relationship has _stalled_ , that we're not moving forward anymore. We don't go on as many dates anymore, I don't spend the night as often, there's no passion left."

Rose hesitated, then whispered, "Was she wrong?"

James turned his face towards her, opened his mouth to respond, closed it again. Then he gave a slight, nearly imperceptible shrug.

Rose's brow pinched in sympathy. He looked really wretched. She wondered if she ought to get him to talk about it a bit more, maybe work through his feelings a little, but stopped. Most of all, he looked tired. He'd looked exhausted when he first returned from the restaurant. She sighed. There was no point in pushing the subject any more tonight. She didn't say anything else as she packed up the telescope, folded the quilt, and led James back into the flat. He stumbled into his bedroom without a word and closed the door behind him. She went to bed as well, but while she was sure he slept like the dead, she laid awake for hours, staring at cracks the ceiling and trying to make sense of them.

Or, more accurately, trying to make sense of James. She didn't _want_ him to move out. He was a fantastic flatmate, despite his strange habits. He had the amazing ability to disturb her boring routine in the best way possible, to make her ordinary life seem incredible and exciting. Whenever they went stargazing, it was the highlight of her week. Sometimes she could believe they actually were time travelers who could go anywhere in the universe. That they actually were running around saving the world, having crazy adventures, completely free from all the things that seemed to weigh them down in their lives– work, responsibilities, relationships. But besides that, he had become her best friend. They could talk to each other about anything, and did. They could share so much more than just the flat. They took care of each other when they were hurt or sick or hungover, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Sure, she thought he was attractive enough, with his tight suits, sticky-uppy brown hair, and carefree grin. But he had a girlfriend, had had a girlfriend since before he moved in with her, so she tried not to think about him that way when she could help it. She'd met Renée a couple of times, the few times James brought her around to their flat. Rose found her vaguely intimidating– she was an elegant sort of woman seemed to have it all together, all the time. Her makeup was always perfectly applied, her hair neat and controlled, pencil skirts and suit jackets pressed and dry cleaned. It made Rose self-conscious of her coats strewn all over the living room, her shoes piled messily outside the closet, dirty dishes in the sink and heavily used takeaway menus on the counter. But James and Renée seemed to like each other well enough and Rose thought they were very happy.

Of course, she had noticed they were spending less and less time together, but tried not to make assumptions about a relationship she really knew very little about. Apparently something _was_ wrong. And not that she'd gotten much out of him, but James seemed uncharacteristically reluctant to do anything about it. He'd said he _wasn't ready_? That seemed very unlike him. From what she saw, he liked handle most problems impulsively and straight away, with very little thought or preparation.

Rose turned over and tried to close her eyes. She didn't like speculating about James's feelings and motives concerning such things. It opened emotional doors she preferred remain shut.


	4. Relationship Advice

Martha's hen night was on Saturday a week later, one of the first nights she had free since beginning her residency. Rose considered making up an excuse and staying in. It had been an exhausting week at work, one of those weeks that made her question her decision to go corporate instead of becoming the freelance artist she'd dreamed about in uni. She'd confided in Donna that she might even consider looking elsewhere for a job if she didn't get some sort of raise soon. Donna heartily agreed and told her she should march into the department manager's office and demand more money, but Rose wasn't sure she had enough of Donna's audacity to pull that off. And as small as they were, she did need the paychecks.

In the end she decided to attend the party, if only to get away from James. Unfortunately, a good night's rest last Saturday and a lie-in on Sunday did not do him as much good as she'd hoped, and he'd been in a decidedly foul mood since Renée's ultimatum. He was snippy and moody, snapping at her for things he would normally ignore and being generally cross and unpleasant.

Rose let him sulk for 72 hours, but after a third day of, "I don't care, nothing at those takeaway places is any good anyway," she ran out of sympathy.

"If you miss her so much, just call her!" she snapped over her Indian takeaway menu, prepared to order all James's least favorites.

"I don't know what I'd say," James said sullenly from the sofa, halfheartedly marking homework.

"Make it up as you go along," Rose said. "That's what you do most of the time, anyway."

James glared at her.

Rose picked up the phone, "Yes, hello, I'd like an order of your chicken with pear chutney–"

James launched himself over the coffee table and made run at Rose around the kitchen table.

Rose ran in the opposite direction, "And-a-pear-tart-for-dessert-twenty-minutes?-okay-thanks." She hung up and smirked at her flatmate's gloomy expression.

"That was unnecessary."

"Your sulking is unnecessary."

"I'm not sulking."

That was it. "Oh, for Christ's sake, James, this has gone on for far too long! I know it's been hard, but you are making it very difficult for me to feel sorry for you. Would it kill you to at least make an _effort_ to act like a decent human being when you're at home? If you're so upset living _me_ , why don't you bloody move in with _her_?"

James's head jerked up like she'd slapped him. She immediately regretted her words and opened her mouth to apologize, but he turned on his heel and stalked off to his bedroom, slamming the door before she could say another word. A puddle of guilt formed in her stomach and she only picked at her dinner, watching his bedroom door from the kitchen for the rest of the evening.

* * *

It was impossible to completely avoid each other in the flat, but for the rest of the week they each did their absolute best to do so. If one of them opened their bedroom door and saw the other in the hallway, they would retreat back into the room until they were fairly sure the other was well away. Rose felt utterly ridiculous– what was this, secondary school?–but perpetuated the trend anyway. She really did feel guilty for what she said on Tuesday, but was afraid to confront him about it. What if he wouldn't listen and stayed angry with her? Or what if he was rude to her again and she said something worse?

Four very long days of this and she had just about had it. Exhausted as she was, she was fully prepared to walk fifteen minutes down the street to Martha's place, where Donna promised multiple cases of beer, an 8-quid bottle of wine that tasted like it cost four times that, and some very strong Russian vodka. Maybe she could go get completely pissed, stumble back into the flat at 3am, and James would be there and take care of her just like he always did and then tease her in the morning and everything would be back to normal.

 _Ha_. Maybe when she got back to the flat, it would be a spaceship that also traveled in time and she and James could actually fly off to Raxacoricofallapatorius or whatever it was and have amazing adventures in time and space and never have to deal with stupid Earth and stupid ex-girlfriends and stupid flatmate arguments ever again.

* * *

Two hours into the party, Rose regretted her decision to go out. Most of the guests were Martha's friends from medical school and the hospital and she felt terribly out of place and too anxious to drink enough to enjoy herself.

At some point, Donna found her sitting alone on Martha's sofa and of course brought up the one person she did not want to talk about. "Rose, how's my muppet of a brother doing? Can never get the bloody spaceman to communicate with me."

Rose stared into her glass of wine. "Oh, you know. He's fine."

Donna narrowed here eyes. "What happened?"

"Well, he and Renée are… um…"

"Did he finally dump her?" Donna said.

Rose blinked in surprise at Donna's assumption. "N-no, she dumped him. Well, she said she wanted to take a break."

" _Really_?" Donna seemed properly intrigued and frowned into the distance for a minute. "How's he taking it?"

Rose glared into her lap. "He's been sulking around the flat all week, being a complete git." She knew she was being a bit unfair, omitting her contribution to James's mood, but it felt too good to vent.

Donna snorted. "Tosser." She paused. "Why'd it happen?"

"She wanted him to move in with her. Told him they were over unless he did. In so many words. He said he wasn't ready."

"Wasn't ready, my arse!" Donna clucked. "My brother has barely prepared for anything in his life! I don't even know if he understands the _concept_ of being ready. If he really wanted to move in with her, he would have done it without a second thought."

"That's what I thought, but I wasn't sure–" Rose stopped. Something had just occurred to her. "Donna, if he truly doesn't want to move in with her, and if he never will, why doesn't he just tell her and end the relationship? Clearly they both want different things."

Donna shook her head. "I'm his older sister, of course _I_ know how he really feels, but I would guess he hasn't figured it out yet. And it's probably driving him bonkers."

"Oh." Rose contemplated her wine glass again. "I should have realized. I've been rather insensitive this past week."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Don't feel too bad, it's not your fault he takes it out on you."

"Maybe not," Rose conceded. But she still felt bad. "Is there anything I could do to… help him?"

"Make him less of a prat, you mean?" Donna said.

Rose flushed, feeling extremely guilty for all this abuse of her flatmate. "No, I didn't–"

"I know what you mean," Donna said. She shrugged. "Don't worry, he'll come 'round. In fact, he probably knows he's been a prat and feels twice as guilty as you."

* * *

Donna was right, of course. James was lying in bed and regretting nearly every word he'd uttered to Rose from Sunday through Tuesday, and every moment of silence and avoidance since then. He _knew_ it wasn't fair of him to take out his frustrations on her, he'd even _said_ so last Saturday. Didn't stop him from doing it, anyway, of course, because he was a git. A complete and utter git.

The worst part was that he'd been unable to communicate though all of this that it wasn't that he missed Renée, which is what Rose seemed to think. Donna had always told him he was bad at deciphering feelings, especially his own, and of course she was right. He couldn't pinpoint what exactly had him so bent out of shape for such an extended period of time, and it was very frustrating. Whenever he tried to systematically parse out his emotions on the subject he quickly became confused, and then angry at himself for being confused. He was losing sleep over it. If nothing else, he knew he hated not knowing.

He glanced at his clock. It was fifteen past midnight, and he felt nowhere near relaxed enough to sleep. So much for an early night then. He jerked out of bed and headed for the kitchen, feeling a sudden, intense desire for tea. A quick glance in the fridge revealed that they had no milk. Trying to dispel the anger quickly re-forming in his gut, he wasted no time in throwing on some jeans and his coat before heading out the door to the 24-hour corner shop.

* * *

 _This must be fate_ , Rose thought as she approached the all-night corner shop near her flat. _The universe is working against me_. Just her luck the shop was on the way back from Martha's. Just her luck she had managed to stay completely sober. Just her luck a tall man in a brown trench coat and red trainers swept out the shop's doors as she passed it.

As large as the inside of the flat had seemed these past couple of days, the pavement seemed very small just then. There was no way they could avoid each other at this point, unless one of them deliberately walked much slower or ran ahead. It seemed they both judged either of these actions to be too much, and they fell in step with each other so easily one would hardly be able to tell the hadn't spoken in days.

Neither of them said anything until they reached the door of the building. They produced their keys at the same time, and stared at each other, wondering who would move to unlock it first. It was cold, and their breaths rose in clouds between them. Rose was wearing only a thin jacket and she was hugging her arms to her chest, and James's coat was open but he made no move to close it, and he was trying not to shiver through is thin t-shirt. They each seemed content with the discomfort and stared at each other, keys in hand, for what felt like a very long time.

James broke first. "I'm so sorry for being such an awful prat."

"I'm sorry for telling you to move in with her," Rose said. "I mean– if you want to move in with her, you should, and don't let me influence your decision, but I shouldn't have said that. And I'm sorry."

Unfrozen, James closed his coat and shook his head. "No, no, I was a prat, an awful one. I was rude and short with you and you put up with it for so long, it's perfectly understandable that you snapped. I know you didn't mean it like that."

Rose looked at the ground, tears in her eyes at being forgiven so readily and so completely. _He really is the most gracious person I know_ , she thought. A gust of wind blew over them and she shivered.

"Let's go inside," James said. He unlocked the door and held it open for her.

They rode the lift together in silence, then she watched him make tea for them without a word. They were seated across from each other at the kitchen table, nursing their respective mugs before James spoke again.

"I want to try to explain myself to you," he said earnestly.

"Oh, please don't feel like you have to do that if you don't want to," Rose said. "You don't owe me anything."

"No, I _do_ want to," James insisted. "And I _do_ owe you an explanation for the way I've been acting."

Rose stared at the table, feeling at once honored and undeserving. "Okay."

"The thing is, it's not that I miss Renée," James began. He cringed. It felt like a callous thing to say about one's girlfriend. "I mean, I do, I suppose, but it's only been a week, I've gone much longer without seeing her. What I'm saying is, that's not what I'm angry about, and I'm so sorry for letting you continue under that impression." He ran a hand through his hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck.

"It's okay, I shouldn't have assumed," Rose said quietly.

James shook his head. "No, it was a reasonable assumption to make. I can't expect you to read my mind." He sighed. "And even if you could, I don't expect you'd be able to make much sense of it. And that's just it, see? _I_ don't even know how I feel about it, every time I try and think about it logically, I just get confused and frustrated and I don't know what to think, I don't know what to do. I hate not knowing." He finished his tea and put his head in his hands. There was silence for a few minutes. The clock on the stove blinked to 1am.

"That's all right," Rose said.

James lifted his head. "Sorry?"

"It's all right, James, to not know what to do," Rose said. "I mean, I know you know that, logically, but perhaps it bears saying anyway. And I think you're frustrated and angry because you want to have an answer for yourself and Renée _right now_ , but I honestly don't think she expects that. Trust me, you want to be sure when–or if–you decide to move in with someone close to you like that. It's okay to take some time, as long as you need, to figure out how you feel and what you want."

"I moved in with you without a second thought," James said. "I hadn't even properly met you and I just did it."

Rose smiled gently. "Yes, but in a romantic relationship there are _expectations_ , you know? There's so much more to lose. If you don't get along, if it doesn't work out, you've suddenly lost a romantic attachment you thought was going somewhere. It's almost better to move in with a stranger, because we could have hated each other and you could have left and it would have been a right pain in the arse but not a big deal in the long run."

As she was speaking, James felt the tension he'd kept tight in his stomach start to release. He looked at Rose in admiration. "When did you become so wise on this subject?"

Rose shook her head. "I'm not that wise." She glanced up and met his eyes briefly. "And you're not the first person to share this flat with me, James. Or even the second."

He saw pain in her eyes, pain from a long time ago, but the kind that still hurt years later if it caught you unawares. He wanted to ask her about it, wanted to know what–or who–had hurt her like that, but she stood up, collecting the mugs and placing them in the sink.

"It's late," she said. "I'm going to bed. You should, too."

"I will," he said. "And thank you, Rose. Truly."

"No problem," Rose murmured. "Just get some rest tonight."

James watched her retreat to her bedroom and for the first time in far too long, he felt his lips twitch into a smile.


	5. Thinking is Overrated

**Thank you to everyone who has followed/favorited/reviewed this story so far, I am so glad you like it (or are at least vaguely interested)– your support means a lot.**

* * *

"Well it's about time you two visited your dear old mum," Sylvia Noble clucked over her cream of mushroom soup. "I've felt so neglected since you moved Cardiff, James."

"I came back," James muttered, slouched at his mother's dining room table.

"And somehow I see neither hide nor hair of you for months," Sylvia sniffed. "I'm lucky you managed to show your face last Christmas! And then you promptly take off before New Year's Eve!"

"That's because while Christmas is meant to be spent with family, New Year's Eve is meant to be spent with your friends getting plastered before the fireworks start," Donna said, barely looking up from her phone.

Sylvia gave her daughter an irritated glance. "Why don't you put that phone away? And sit up straight, James!" She was ignored. "Who are you texting anyway, Donna? That husband of yours? Where's he got to, anyway? I didn't know the primary school held speech therapy on the weekends."

"They do, for children who can't stay late during the week," Donna said. She was right on the edge of snippy. "And Lee has to put in extra hours this weekend because next weekend we have to go to the wedding."

"Oh that's right, Martha's wedding is coming up!" Sylvia said. "Another marriage as a result of our own family matchmaker!"

James rolled his eyes. "I barely did anything. And for the last time, I am not responsible for Donna meeting Lee."

"Oh stop it, I've heard the story. How could they resist each other when you introduce them so charmingly! And of course you are, she was supposed to be meeting _you_ in the Cardiff Central Library, wasn't she?"

"Yes, and if you remember, _she_ got lost all on her own. I had nothing to do with it," James scowled into the table. If he had a penny for every time they had this discussion…

"Stop being modest, James. Face it, you bring people together!"

James resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. "I really don't. People just happen to come together in my presence." And somehow he always ended up alone.

Sylvia frowned at him. "You can just accept the compliment, you know. I don't know why you're being such a wet blanket today, I really don't. Are you fighting with Rose again? Or is it Renée this time? Donna, what did he do?"

"Why do you automatically assume I did something!" James said. "I did nothing! Nothing has been done! I'm not fighting with anyone!"

Donna raised an eyebrow at him.

Sylvia noticed and rounded on her. "Donna? Which one is it, Rose or Renée?"

James stared hard at his sister. _Don't tell her, don't bring Mum into this_.

Donna rolled her eyes at him. "Come on, James it's _Mum_."

"Exactly," James said, which earned him a firm whack on the head with a spatula.

"Donna," Sylvia prompted again.

"It's Renée," Donna said. "But you'll have to get the full story from him. Even I've only heard it secondhand." Her phone rang. "It's Lee, I should take this." Then she abandoned him.

"She's only heard it secondhand? Who did you tell before your _sister_? James, how many times do I have to tell you to stop keeping thing from family?"

James glared balefully at Donna's back. _Traitor_.

* * *

"Sorry about earlier," Donna said later, after dinner when they were sitting in the living room with a pot of tea and Sylvia was heating up dessert. She didn't look all that sorry.

"I think Mum would be a great new hire at Scotland Yard," James muttered. "Give her five minutes with anyone they have in holding and they'll be signing confessions before you can say _Jack Robinson_."

"Oh, you're such a baby," Donna said. "You should be grateful. There are worse things to be interrogated about."

"Yeah?"

"You don't know the half of it, James. You're her _son_ , you're not married, she can only go so far. All she wants to talk to me about these days is when I'm going to give her a grandchild."

James had to admit that was much worse. He felt a little bad for complaining. "I'm sorry."

Donna shrugged. "It's okay. I mean, it's not, but I've already rowed with her about it and I don't care to again."

"Really? When was that?"

"A month and a half ago, over the phone. Why do you think I haven't been over in so long?"

"I don't know! Now who's keeping things from family?"

"I think it's genetic," Donna said.

James huffed and sipped his tea.

"But what did you say to her?" Donna asked suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean, did you tell her what you're going to do about Renée?"

"No. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Really? It's been– what? Three weeks? Four?"

James shrugged. "We haven't actually broken up. I can still call her. She wanted a break so we're taking one. I still need to think about it."

"Since when do you think about things for three weeks?"

James shrugged again. "Rose said it was okay if I took some time to make a decision like this. That it would be better if I was absolutely sure."

" _Really_?" Donna smiled. "And you listened to her?"

"She seemed to know what she was talking about."

Donna looked properly nonplussed. "I'll have to ask her for some tips. I could do with you listening to me more often."

James smiled. "Don't bother, I'm already hardwired to never, _ever_ listen to you."

* * *

Later that week, James was reconsidering his policy of never ever listening to Donna, giving the radiator in Rose's bedroom a fifth hearty whack with his rubber hammer. It gave an unhealthy wheeze, but otherwise stayed decidedly cold.

"We should have just called the landlord when this happened in the morning," Rose said, shivering through her winter coat.

Donna said the same thing, James recalled sourly. "This morning, I fixed it," he said.

"Yeah, and how's that going now?" Rose said irritably. "It's nearly midnight and like 12 degrees in here. I'm never going to get to sleep."

"Well it's too late to call the landlord now, we'll have to wait 'till tomorrow."

Rose grimaced. "I guess I'm officially sleeping on the sofa, then. Lovely."

James sighed. "That's ridiculous. Take my bedroom, I'll sleep on the sofa."

"No, that doesn't make any sense at all, you're too tall for the sofa. I'll be fine."

"Look, my room gets warmer than the living room at night, you'll be much more comfortable in there," James insisted. He hated the thought of her put out of her room because he couldn't fix the sodding heat.

"Oh my God, this is such a stupid argument," Rose said. "Why don't we just both sleep in your room!"

James blinked. "What?"

"What?" Rose shot back. "You don't want me out on the sofa, I don't want to put you out, can't we just share your room for one night?"

"D-do you mean, like, share the bed?" James stuttered.

Rose looked slightly uncomfortable, but pressed on. "Do you have a problem with that? There's plenty of space, and I trust you not to try anything funny."

"Of course not!"

"So there's no problem, then, is there?" Rose said, looking him in the eyes. "This is the most practical solution, and we're just friends, so it's no big deal, right?"

"R-right." It felt like very a big deal to him, but he couldn't think of a way to put it into words.

 _You're overreacting_ , he told himself. _You're just friends, it'll be fine._ _It's only one night, anyway._

* * *

A call to the landlord over breakfast the following morning revealed that apparently everyone and their uncle needed their heating units fixed, and since only one room in the flat was affected, it would be two days until anyone could take a look at it. Which meant two more nights of sharing a bed.

Rose looked at him doubtfully as he hung up his mobile. "Are you sure you're all right with that? Our arrangement, I mean."

"Oh, yes, yes, it's fine. Completely fine."

It was not fine. He was beginning to feel like a cheating arse. But he couldn't very well express that to Rose, because that would imply he felt that sharing a bed with her was anything other than strictly platonic. Which it wasn't. It's just that with Rose asleep less than a meter away from him, his bed felt very, very small. She didn't even take up that much space. On the contrary, she slept rather curled in on herself and stayed firmly within what anyone might consider _her side_. But her presence in the bed with him still felt significant, and he felt like he was being disloyal to Renée.

Yet somehow here he was sharing a bed with Rose for a second night in a row and at 2am he was still awake and wondering why in the world he agreed to this. He was also desperately trying to rationalize his guilt.

 _It's just because Renée wouldn't like it_ , he thought. _She doesn't have anything to worry about, of course, but she would get the wrong idea_. It occurred to him that he might be tempted to deny this ever happened to Renée should it come up, which was perhaps not a good sign. But it was too late now, if he said anything at this point Rose would get suspicious, or worse, feel bad for forcing him into a situation that was not her fault at all. He should never have agreed to the arrangement in the first place. But that would have been suspicious as well.

Christ, he was thinking in circles now. He was too exhausted for this.

 _Maybe thinking is overrated_. He'd been thinking about the direction of his relationship with Renée for weeks and he was still no closer to a decision. Thinking about the current situation with Rose was just as unproductive. Perhaps he just ought to stop thinking so much about his relationships and just do what felt comfortable for a little while.

He took a deep breath and tried to relax, letting his train of thought disintegrate. In and of itself, he didn't dislike sharing a bed with Rose. She made the bed feel warmer and a little less lonely, and the smell of her lavender shampoo could be quite soothing in terms of getting to sleep.

He firmly pushed away his worries about the implications of these thoughts. _She's just a friend,_ he told himself again. _Don't worry about it, just relax_.

After that, he found it quite easy to drop off to sleep.

He slept so well it was just as easy to crawl into bed next to Rose for a third night, and it was easy to enjoy the warmth she seemed to bring to the whole room **–** the _cozy_ kind of warmth. The kind of warmth you wish for when it's below freezing out and you can hear the wind whistling outside. So if he slept a little bit closer to Rose that night, it was because he was looking for that.


	6. 48 Hours

Strictly speaking, James was not a member of the Smith and Jones wedding party and would not have gone to the rehearsal dinner had Martha not asked him personally. And even then, he had to be convinced. A long dinner at a fancy restaurant with a large group of people he barely knew wasn't exactly his idea of a Friday night.

"It wouldn't feel the same without you," Martha said over the phone the night before. "I don't get to see you much since I stopped tutoring at the academy. You can bring Renée, too if you like!"

"Oh, um, we're not– well, you see– she won't be coming. " Damn. Perhaps he should make an effort to see Martha more often.

Martha paused awkwardly. "Oh. Well, okay. Did you–?"

"No. It's…complicated."

"Um, okay. But will you come anyway? Please? It's at Platform One, this nice place in the center of town. Jack got me a reservation. I've heard it's good. Have you been?"

James grimaced. He had been, on a date with Renée. It was a bit posh, in his opinion, but if he recalled they had excellent banana custard. And he hated to turn down free banana custard. "All right, I'll be there. What time?"

"Oh, thank you, thank you! It's at 5:30 tomorrow, early because the wedding is the next day."

"Right. Well, I'll have to come straight from school, so is there any sort of dress code?"

"As long as you still wear those tight suits to work."

James huffed. "They're not that tight." His suits were _fitted_. And he thought they looked good.

"Whatever." He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Rose'll be there so you'll have someone to talk to. Try not to be too rude to everyone else, yeah?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," James grumbled.

"Sure you don't. 5:30, don't be late!"

"I'm never la– oh, she's hung up." He glanced at his mobile in distaste.

"Don't look so grumpy," Rose said through a mouthful of chips, listening to his side of the conversation from next to him on the sofa. "If I have to suffer through it, then so do you! And you're always complaining you never get to see Martha anymore."

"Yes, but tomorrow she'll be distracted by the congratulations of all her other friends and I'll have to sit and smile and make _small talk_." He was on the edge of whining, but it was Rose, so he didn't care. He didn't have to act mature for her, it was one of the best things about their relationship, which was still strictly a friendship. No matter how empty his bed felt last night.

Rose gasped dramatically. "Small talk! The _horror_!"

"Shut up." James made a grab for her chips.

Rose jerked the packet away. "No, these are mine. I need comfort food. Stupid Adam Mitchell got promoted today instead of me, because he's the biggest kiss-arse in the history of the universe, so the rest of us get punished because we have class."

James gave Rose sad-eyes and reached for the newspaper packet again. She laughed and held the chips at arms length and leaned away from him. He kept reaching for them and she kept leaning backwards until he was basically on top of her on the sofa. It might have been a fairly compromising position had anyone walked in on them at that moment, but James didn't care. Frankly, he was tired of caring. Ever since his decision three nights ago to stop thinking about things, he realized how honestly exhausting it was to think about Renée and _that_ whole situation all the time. He simply didn't have the energy to keep Rose at arm's length as well and he had made the somewhat unconscious decision to enjoy their relationship–friendship–for all it was worth. At this point, it felt like the path of least resistance, and damn the consequences, he was going to enjoy it. What could possibly go wrong?

He should have known it would take barely 48 hours for him to realize that the answer to that question was, _A whole fucking lot_.

* * *

The rehearsal dinner turned out not to be as excruciating as James was anticipating. Mickey had very little family and a fairly limited circle of friends, so most of the members of the wedding party were Martha's friends, and they were mostly medical residents like her and as a result as nerdy and socially awkward as himself. He had an easy enough time making polite conversation, which was good because it turned out Rose was seated at a different table with Mickey's other friends.

That didn't mean he didn't miss her, though, if only for the familiar face, and he kept glancing over at her. He thought she was looking quite lovely tonight. Her hair was done up in such a way that some blonde wisps were left swaying at her neck, and her deep purple dress fell over her shoulders in such a graceful way that made her look elegant yet still so _Rose_ –

"So _did_ you break up with Renée?"

He whipped his head around to look at Martha, sitting on his right and raising her eyebrows suggestively. "What? No! We're just– why are you asking?"

"Well are you with Rose now?" Martha nodded in his flatmate's direction. "If I'd known I would've made sure you two got seats next to each other."

"Rose and I aren't together! What in the world gave you that idea?"

Martha gave him a funny look. "For one, you keep staring at her across the room and haven't noticed Christina eyeing you all night, dying for a chance to give you her phone number."

James abruptly reddened and glanced at Martha's uni roommate across the table, who winked at him. He tugged his collar uncomfortably. "Well, I have a girlfriend so…"

"So you _didn't_ break up with Renée?"

"No, what makes you think I did?"

Martha was starting to look frustrated. "Well you didn't bring her tonight, and what am I supposed to think? It's not like you tell me anything."

"Right. Sorry," he said, somewhat chagrined. "Like I said last night… it's complicated."

"Did you two have a row? Did something happen between you and Rose?"

"No, Renée and I did not have a row. Well, I suppose we did, sort of. We disagreed over… where we were in the relationship and are taking some time apart to… think things over. And why does Rose keep coming into this? Nothing happened, nothing _is_ happening, we're just friends."

Martha shrugged. "I don't know, I always figured that eventually something _would_ happen between the two of you. And the way you're looking at her tonight, I just thought…"

"I'm not looking at her in any ' _way_ ' tonight," James insisted.

Martha shrugged again. "Okay." She didn't touch the subject for the rest of the night, and James did his best not to think about it. Thinking was overrated.

* * *

The wedding the next day was absolutely lovely, of course. Martha looked happier than James had ever seen her, and Mickey appeared nothing short of stunned that this was actually happening. The ceremony went smoothly, the transition from there to the reception in a hotel ballroom down the street was barely noticeable, and the speeches (if a tad cheesy) were very nice and his part in introducing them was only brought up twice.

James watched the newlyweds dance to an acoustic version of Coldplay's _Yellow_ and the empty plus one seat next to him felt very cold. For the first time since her ultimatum, he found himself really missing Renée. Perhaps it was the wedding atmosphere, making him feel more isolated than usual. But he looked at Mickey and Martha, firmly ensconced in each other's arms and smiling at each other like they were the last people on earth, and damn it all, but he wanted that.

He'd been looking for that in Renée hadn't he? But it had all gone wrong, somehow. A cold, frozen feeling prickled his insides and he suddenly felt very sad.

He was blinking back irrational tears by the time the song ended, and in the rush of people onto the dance floor at the beginning of _Life is a Highway_ , he managed to sneak out onto the patio to collect himself, looking at the few stars blinking through the clouds, watching his breath fade in front of his mouth and trying not to shiver through is suit jacket. He heard the door open and close behind him and turned to see Rose, with nothing but a thin shawl over her bare shoulders.

 _Blimey, she must be freezing_. He threw his own jacket over her shoulders without a second thought, then turned back to the stars.

"What are you doing out here?" she said softly. She gripped his coat and stood next to him and followed his gaze up to the cloudy December sky. "Wishing you were somewhere up there?" She didn't sound bitter or resentful, just curious.

"No," he answered truthfully. "It was a lovely ceremony." There was more to say, but he couldn't find the words, so he kept staring fruitlessly into the sky.

Rose stared with him in silence for a little while. Then she said, "It's funny how lonely you can be in a crowded place."

 _Lonely_. That was the word he was looking for. Of course Rose knew. "Funny," he agreed. Then he turned around and looked up at the towering hotel above them. "We should go inside," he said. "I'm pretty sure it's below freezing out here."

"We should." Rose glanced reluctantly at the ballroom, where the DJ was still playing upbeat music and people looked too happy for them to ruin with their melancholy moods.

"Rose," James said, a grin breaking through his sadness. "Instead of rejoining the dance party, lovely as it is, how about we go explore this old hotel a bit?"

She smiled and nodded, her tongue poking between her teeth.

Without thinking about it, he held out his hand. She took it, and in the cold, crisp air it felt soft and warm and _right_ and he turned to her and said, "Run!"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they stumbled breathless and laughing into a parlor on the fifth floor. Rose's heels were in in her hands, and James's bowtie was loose around his neck. He made a big show of checking he hallway carefully before closing the french doors behind him.

"I don't think they can get us in here," he said mock-seriously to his companion.

"Thank God," she said, a hand pressed to her side. "I'm about to pop a stitch in this dress."

"Well that would be a shame," James said softly. "It's beautiful."

"Is it really?" Rose looked up at him with big, wide eyes, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. The moon had come out, and its silvery light was streaming in through the parlor window on to Rose's face. Her dress shimmered when she moved, and it quite literally looked like she was glowing.

He didn't think about what he did next. It was like he was drunk, except he'd barely consumed half a glass of champagne all night. He was drunk on the adrenaline and endorphins from running with Rose through the halls of a posh hotel being chased by imaginary aliens. He was drunk on the romance of the night– it was a wedding, where two people say 'I do' and promise to love each other as long as they both shall live. He was drunk on the last 48 hours, when he'd let go of all the reservations and restraint and barriers he'd unconsciously constructed between him and Rose, allowed himself to really, truly enjoy her presence for the first time.

"It really is," he said. "Of course it is. _You're_ beautiful, Rose." And he strode purposefully over to her on the navy blue settee, sat next to her and kissed her.

She froze, and for a terrifying second he was afraid she was going to pull away, that he'd gone too far, that this was unwelcome. But then her lips relaxed against his and her mouth opened and he felt her tongue on his lips and then his tongue was in her mouth as well and his hands found his way to her waist and hers were in his hair, pulling him closer to her and _Christ_ that felt good and–

His mobile chirped. With some effort, he tore himself away from Rose long enough to spare a glance at the screen.

And that's all it took for reality to crash back down on top of him. Three words. It was a three word text: _How's the wedding?_ The really damming part was who it was from. Renée.

James jerked away from Rose and whispered, "I have a girlfriend, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." A girlfriend on whom he had effectively just cheated. _Really_ cheated, this time. There was no _just friends_ argument to be made here like the bed-sharing situation. No, he'd really fucked this up. This was a disaster. This is what he got for not thinking.

"What?" He turned at Rose's voice, which sounded small and sad. "I thought– you do?"

"Yes, I do. I'm so sorry," James said, staring hard at the name on the screen. Rose knew this. What was she saying? He looked over at her again, and for a second he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

Then she blinked and they were gone. "That's right, you do." She looked at him, her face carefully blank. "It's okay, I'll deny this ever happened." She stood up slowly, straightened her dress and pushed a few hairs back into place, then walked towards the door, heels in hand. She turned back to him in the doorway, a sad look on her face. "James, I'm sorry," she said.

Then she was gone, and James felt frozen in place, wondering what on earth had just happened. And what on earth he was going to do about it.


	7. Merry Christmas, Indeed

James groaned and slumped onto his desk, head pillowed in his arms. It was the last day of school before Christmas holiday and a half day, which was frankly a relief because he was honestly not sure he could have made it through a full day. It was only Tuesday, but he was _beyond_ exhausted and could feel the beginning of a tension headache behind his left temple. Not that he could truly relax at the flat lately. While not quite like the last row he'd had with Rose, things at the flat had been a bit uneasy. Rose was quieter than usual and avoided physical contact with him whenever possible, but otherwise pleasant. James had a hard time making eye contact with her– he felt like a right bastard for what happened on Saturday but no matter how many times he apologized it couldn't be undone.

He couldn't un-kiss Rose. He was reminded of that every time he saw Renée in the hallways at school. He'd never been able to respond to her text, and he could _feel_ the guilt eating away at his stomach when he looked at her, and at the same time as he could feel Rose's mouth on his, her dress under his hands. It made him sweat under his collar he was so nervous and jumpy Renée had to know something was up.

He looked at the clock on the wall. Five more minutes, and he could go home. He felt like a student again, waiting for the last period to end. If he hadn't been so tired, he might've counted the seconds as they ticked by. As it was, he let his eyes drift closed and was startled out of a doze when the bell rang. His head jerked up and he scrambled to collect a pile of exams to mark over the holiday, threw on his coat and strode out of the school with his head down, no thought on his mind except to get through the bus ride and collapse with a cup of tea. If he caught the next bus, he could probably get home and onto the sofa before his headache became too unbearable.

His plans were suddenly and completely foiled halfway between the school's main entrance and the pavement, on a wide cobblestone walkway lined with low bushes.

"James!"

 _Oh God._ James pretended he hadn't heard and quickened his pace. He wasn't prepared for this.

"James!" He heard her shiny blue heels behind him and there was nothing he could do short of flat-out running to avoid them. So he turned to face Renée, fur coat pulled up to her cheeks and breathing hard from her effort to catch up.

"Ah, hello, Renée. How've you been, then? It's been a while since…" He trailed off, hand on the back of his neck, and stared very hard just to the right of her head. _Tell her, tell her, tell her, you have to tell her._ He could feel the shame and guilt pooling in his stomach again. It was making regret his chicken sandwich for lunch. _She knows you're hiding something, you have to tell her_.

"James, I want to apologize," Renée said, almost pleaded.

 _What? What does_ she _have to apologize for?_

"I wanted to say I'm sorry for what I said at dinner last month. It wasn't fair to give you a choice like that, I shouldn't have expected you to be able to respond immediately or the way I wanted, so I'm sorry."

 _Lord, she's_ sorry _, she's being_ gracious _. And how do I repay her? By snogging my flatmate._ He was feeling properly nauseous now. He swallowed convulsively and tried to remember to breathe. "Renée–" he began, too quietly.

"I was just frustrated, I felt like our relationship needed something– James?"

He must have been looking really green at this point, because she stopped and looked closely at him. He took a breath and tried again, "Renée, I–-"

And that's as far as he got before he had to turn and be violently ill into the shrubbery.

* * *

"38.3," Rose said, contemplating the screen on their plastic thermometer. She gave him a quick once-over, her brow furrowed in concern. He tried to sink lower into the sofa cushions. He must look absolutely pitiful. "I think you've got 'flu."

James groaned. This could not be happening. This could not be happening on top of all the other miserable things that made up his life right now.

Rose attempted a hopeful smile. "It's only December 23rd. You could be fine by Christmas."

"Unlikely," he croaked around his sore throat. "I think this is what's been going around at school. It's bad. A few students were out for weeks."

"Well, at least wait to call Donna and your mother. You _could_ get better in time." Leave it to Rose to be optimistic. "Right now, I think you should probably change–you can't be comfortable like that in your suit and coat–and get into bed. I'll get you some water and paracetamol. I don't suppose you want anything to eat?"

He didn't think he'd ever felt less like eating. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Right. Um," Rose paused awkwardly. "Do you think you can make it to your bedroom?"

Of course he could make it to his bedroom. It was barely six meters away. With an effort, he got to his feet and suddenly found it very difficult to tell which way was up. He must have swayed or something because he felt Rose's hand gently on his elbow, where it stayed until he was sitting safely on his bed.

"Rose, it's barely 2 in the afternoon," he said. It was mostly for show, he could hardly keep his eyes open.

She ignored him, just pulled out a clean vest top and some pyjama bottoms and put them in his lap. All awkwardness and embarrassment seemingly forgotten for the moment, she brushed his fringe off his clammy forehead and said gently, "Just change. I'll be back in a minute with some medicine. Try not to fall asleep before you take some, okay?"

He managed to nod and start fumbling with his coat. Rose was right. He should sleep. Maybe this _was_ just a 24-hour thing and he would feel much better tomorrow, then he could drag himself to Chiswick for Christmas.

* * *

He woke up shivering and coughing and feeling more miserable than ever around 7 that evening. Rose came in after less than a minute to dose him with more paracetamol and night time cold medicine. He must've interrupted her dinner because her breath smelled like stir fry– soy sauce and garlic. But she stayed and rubbed his back anyway, making soothing, whispery noises until he caught his breath.

"You should go," he rasped. "You'll get sick."

Rose shook her head. "Apparently unlike you, I actually got my flu jab in October."

Damn. That must have slipped his mind. "You could still get sick," he said.

She shrugged. "I'll wash my hands. Try to get some sleep tonight. You'll feel better in the morning."

* * *

He did not feel better in the morning. He still had a temperature, 38.6 when Rose woke him up to check it, and he felt lethargic, congested, and achy. He stayed in bed and dozed on and off, feeling ill and sorry for himself. The highlight of his morning was a text from Renée.

 _Are you okay?_

He cringed. Yesterday afternoon, he'd stuttered 'Perhaps we can talk about this later,' then quite literally fled the scene immediately after losing his lunch outside the school. He'd splurged on a cab ride home for the sake of time and then thrown up again outside his building. Not some his finest moments, he had to admit. _I've been better_ , he replied. _I seem to've caught 'flu_.

 _I'm sorry_ , she wrote. _How are you feeling_?

No point in lying. _Like death warmed over_. That was an understatement. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been ill, but this bloody virus seemed determined to make him pay for all those years of good health.

 _I'm sorry,_ she said again. _Rotten time to be ill_.

 _No kidding,_ he said. And, because he might as well accept reality, _I don't think I'll make it home to Chiswick at this rate_.

Renée didn't respond for a few minutes, and he'd almost fallen back asleep when she wrote, _Will you be okay? My flight to Paris leaves in a few hours, but I could cancel it_.

 _You don't have to do that, I'll be fine. Rose is here, for now, at least. I'm fine_. Rose would probably leave, too, at some point. She had her parents and little brother waiting for her. But he was an adult. He could take care of himself.

 _Okay, if you're sure,_ Renée said. _Merry Christmas. Feel better_.

 _I'll do my best,_ he wrote. _Merry Christmas._ He put his mobile to sleep and tossed it carelessly on the nightstand. Merry Christmas indeed.

* * *

Some hours later, he woke up absolutely sweltering and threw the duvet off because it was bloody _hot_ in here. It must be his bedroom. It was always the warmest room in the flat, wasn't it? He rolled off his bed and stood, took a few seconds to get his balance, and staggered into the sitting room to curl up on the sofa. He was just beginning to shiver again ( _Stupid fever_ ) when he felt something very warm and very soft fall over him. He opened his eyes and saw Rose tucking the afghan around his shoulders. He must've looked bad, because her brow was furrowed again and she was biting her lip in sympathy.

She knelt next to his head feel his forehead and neck. Her hand felt cold to him and _wonderful_. "2:30 on Christmas Eve," she murmured. "Donna and Lee are supposed to pick you up at 3. I don't suppose you'll feel up to going?"

James shook his head miserably. The journey from his room to the sofa had pretty much wiped him out. He didn't think he could handle a car ride through London traffic. It just wasn't going to happen.

"Do you want me to call Donna for you? Tell her you're ill?"

That would be nice of her. Rose was so _nice_. All the time, even when he was a git. But he said, "No, I'll do it myself." He wasn't a _total_ invalid. "If you can just please get my mobile from my room? And the box of tissues?" Well, maybe he was mostly an invalid.

Rose nodded and stood up to retrieve the requested items. By the time she returned, he was hot again and pushed the afghan down around his waist. She frowned and felt his forehead again. "We should re-take your temperature. You're due for more paracetamol."

He nodded listlessly, picking up the phone and dialing his sister's mobile.

"Hello, Spaceman, you're not going to be late, are you? Mum and Gramps are really excited."

 _Crap_. "No, um, sorry, Donna," he croaked. He cleared his throat, which caused a brief coughing spell. Donna must have heard it and probably came to her own conclusions, but he said anyway, "I can't go to Mum's with you today, or tomorrow, probably. I caught the flu going 'round at school. I'm– I feel really ill, can't move from the couch just now. I'm sorry. I want to see you and Wilf and Mum but I can't. I just can't."

"Oh, James, don't be sorry!" Donna sounded really concerned and he closed his eyes. Rose's pity was enough. "It's okay, it really is! I'm so sorry, that's just rotten luck, it is. We'll all miss you, of course, but please just rest and try to get better. I'll call Mum and tell her you can't make it. How are you doing? Is Rose there?"

He sighed. "I'm okay. Well, as okay as can be expected, I guess. Feel like absolute shit, but I think I'll live. Rose is here." He looked at her, sitting on the coffee table in front of him holding the thermometer and medicine. "Although I suspect she'll eventually have to go to her Mum and Dad's as well, but I'll be okay. I'll probably just sleep."

Rose's frown deepened and she looked like she might interrupt but then she stopped.

Donna clicked her tongue sadly. "Oh, James, are you sure you'll be okay? Please call me if you need me to come over or if you need anything, anything at all."

"I will," James said. "Goodbye, Donna, and thank you. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

He hung up and looked at Rose, still frowning at him. "What?"

"Nothing." She pursed her lips and held out the thermometer, which he dutifully took and placed under his tongue. "It's just– I already called my Mum and Dad. Told them I'm not coming. Today or tomorrow. I'm going to stay here, with you."

He wanted to argue with her, but she held up a finger to stop him.

"Keep that under your tongue. And don't argue with me, even if you _can_ take care of yourself (a matter that is really up for debate at this point), you shouldn't be alone on Christmas. I'll stay here, we can have chicken soup for all three meals, we'll watch the Christmas specials on telly. It'll be fun." She glanced over him, taking in his pale face, red eyes, and running nose. "Well, as fun as Christmas with 'flu is ever going to get."

Forget Rose being _nice_ , she was a downright _angel_. An angel with tea and lemsip and medicine who was wonderful and kind even when he'd hurt her. She was basically giving up her Christmas for him, and he'd done absolutely nothing to deserve it. Less than nothing, he'd kissed her and then pushed her away, let her believe she'd done something wrong. She could've taken off for home and been completely justified. He should apologize to her again, in detail and really sincerely this time, formally ask for her forgiveness for everything he'd done.

He looked up at her, sitting on the coffee table again, frowning at the thermometer reading and measuring out more paracetamol. "Rose–" he began. But he was right on the edge of sleep and his voice was weak and broken-sounding.

"Shh," Rose pressed two tablets into his hand and held up a glass of water. "It's okay, you can tell me later, James. Just go to sleep. I'm making chicken soup now, if you feel like eating later."

"You're cooking?" James mumbled as he closed his eyes.

Rose laughed, a soft, musical sound. "Don't worry, I followed a recipe. It'll probably be easier on your stomach than anything canned."

 _A real-life angel_ , he thought. Or perhaps he said that out loud, because he thought he heard her laugh again before he fell asleep.

* * *

That evening, James was beginning to realize what it was about this flu that kept his students out of school for so long. He began coughing in earnest around 8 o'clock, after forcing down a few spoonfuls of Rose's surprisingly good chicken soup. Rose helped him back to bed and fed him some foul-tasting cough mixture and more cold medicine, but it didn't help. His fever spiked, and despite sleeping for most of the day he was still exhausted and all he wanted to do was sleep for some twelve hours, but he couldn't go more than two without waking up to cough in long, painful fits. It sounded awful, too, barking and urgent. His chest ached, his throat was completely raw, and his lungs felt heavy and tight.

He couldn't imagine Rose was getting much sleep either, what with the racket he was making. The third (or fourth?) time he woke up during the night, he heard Rose get up and start moving around the flat. She came into his room and tugged on his elbow. He pulled away, coughing into his pillow. He didn't want to get up. He wanted to sleep.

"James, just cooperate," Rose said. She sounded irritated. Or worried. She grabbed his arm again and pulled harder.

"No," he wheezed between coughs. "Leave me alone."

"James, come _on_ ," she said, gripping him harder. "You won't be able to get any rest like this. Please, work with me here."

He groaned. And coughed. She was stronger than him at the moment and he was sure she wouldn't stop until he did what she wanted. So he let her drag him upright and lead him to the bathroom. She'd turned the shower on as hot as it would go and left the curtain open. The whole room was filled with steam.

"Just sit here for a while," she said, depositing him on a few cushions on the floor next to the tub. She closed the door behind her and sat across from him, leaning against the cabinet under the sink. "The steam should loosen up whatever you've got sitting in your chest, then you can cough it up and get some actual rest."

James nodded dumbly. It was probably worth a try.

Rose was quiet for a few moments. Then she said, "Mum did this for Tony when he got pneumonia last February."

"Mm. I suppose it worked, then?"

She nodded. "It seemed to. It's better than that rubbish cough mixture we have. I think it's expired. But it's past midnight on Christmas Eve. Even the petrol stations are closed."

Right. It was Christmas Eve. "Some Christmas Eve," he muttered.

Rose shrugged. "It could be worse."

Could be worse? What in God's name had he done to deserve this woman who instead of going home to her family was spending the night before Christmas sitting in a bathroom with him, her rude, ungrateful, prick of a flatmate, while he tried not to die of 'flu? "Thank you," he said suddenly.

Rose gave him a small smile. "It's okay. I don't mind."

James sighed, then coughed, a bit more productively this time. Rose knew what she was doing, the steam seemed to be helping. "No, it's not okay, Rose," he said. "I was awful to you at the wedding, a complete and utter bastard. I let you think what happened was your fault, and it's not. It's all mine and I messed everything up, with Renée, and with you and I'm so sorry, so very, very sorry. And now you've gone and sacrificed your Christmas for me, and I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you."

Rose sobered and looked down. "Thank you for saying so. I appreciate it." She looked up at him again. "But I forgive you."

James sighed in relief and put his head in his hands. He was becoming uncomfortably warm, but it felt like a large weight had come off his shoulders. Rose forgave him. She had every right not to, but she did. They would be okay. Rose pulled a clean flannel out of a drawer and ran it under cold water from the sink. He handed it to him and he pressed it gratefully to his forehead.

"And James, don't feel bad about Christmas."

He raised his eyebrows.

"It was my choice," she said. "And I don't regret it. We're friends. Friendship isn't really about _deserving_ , is it. No matter what happened last weekend, you're still my friend. And you need a friend now, James. I'm still here because I want to be. I _want_ to be your friend."

He couldn't think of a single thing to say to that. That was lovely. And brilliant. And so _Rose_. He was going to have to find a way to make it up to her, as soon as he could put two coherent thoughts together. Right now, all he could say was, "Thank you, Rose. You're wonderful, fantastic, brilliant. You're the most fantastic, wonderful, and brilliant friend there is. I want to be your friend, too, and I'm so very lucky to have you. So thank you."

Rose smiled, then shuffled over so she was sitting next to him and wrapped her arms around him. It was rather awkward, the angle was all wrong and he wasn't quite sure what to do with his long limbs in the cramped space, but he leaned into it anyway and tried not to cough on her.

"Merry Christmas, James," she said into his hair.

"Merry Christmas, Rose." _Merry Christmas, indeed._


	8. For the Best

After forty minutes and five long coughing fits, Rose put James back to bed and let him sleep for twelve solid hours. He woke up on Christmas afternoon to Rose bringing him more chicken soup–which probably smelled wonderful, not that he could appreciate it– and a Christmas present. It was a tie, thin like he preferred them and blue, with a beautiful white circular pattern that looked like a weird, alien language. He reached under his bed and presented her with his gift, a two-year subscription to _Layers_ magazine.

"'An essential publication for the creative professional,'" he quoted their advert.

She smiled and thanked him and they hugged awkwardly again. The rest of Christmas day was spent on the sofa, marathoning all the specials on telly and eating Rose's chicken soup. James still felt generally rotten. He remained tired, feverish, congested, and sore, and he still had the horrible cough, but today it all felt _less_ somehow. And sitting next to Rose watching killer snowmen slowly invade London, he thought that perhaps this wouldn't go down in his life as the worst Christmas ever. He might even file it among the good ones.

* * *

Two days later, he hadn't quite shaken the lingering malaise and the cough was still bothering him, but his temperature had finally fallen to a relatively comfortable 37.8 so when Renée texted him that she was back in London and asked if they could talk, he invited her over that afternoon. He might as well get it over with. Rose was not eager to spend any length of time around Renée, so after buzzing her in hurried off to Tesco's to buy much needed groceries and ingredients for something other than chicken soup.

James let her into the flat, offered her tea (which was declined), then showed her to the sitting room. He retreated to his seat on the sofa within easy reach of the tissues and a bin. She sat stiffly on the chair across from him. They exchanged half-hearted pleasantries and stared at each other for a few minutes.

"So, how are you feeling?" Renée said.

James stifled a cough. "Okay. Recovering slowly. Or perhaps I'm just impatient."

"That's good. You look…" She trailed off, clearly hesitating because she didn't want to be rude.

"I know. It's been a rough couple of days." He ran a hand over his face, which he knew remained pale and tired.

She looked sympathetic, but her pity seemed to break the ice a bit. "So I guess I came to apologize. Again. For last month. I'm so sorry for putting you in that position."

He sighed, coughed. "It's all right, Renée. I don't blame you for that. I understand what you were trying to do."

She looked relieved to hear that. "Thank you." She was nervous. She was mostly staring at her hands, or off to one side.

He couldn't say he was doing much better.

Finally, she said, "The thing is, James, I still feel the same way. About our relationship, I mean. I feel like we're not moving forward anymore, like there's no passion between us. I'm not– I'm not happy the way things are."

"Neither am I," he admitted.

"Well, what do you want to do about it?" she said, finally meeting his eyes.

"I don't know."

She sighed, then leaned towards him, her face serious. "James, to be completely honest, I think we're both holding onto something that no longer exists. I like you and I don't want to break up, but I feel like this has been ending for a long time."

As soon as she said it, he knew it was true. Maintaining the relationship was becoming a stressful, energy-consuming activity, and whatever was left between them was probably not worth it. "You're right," he conceded. "I think it's over."

Renée sat back and almost smiled in relief. "Okay. Good. I mean– not _good_ , but I think this is the right decision."

James nodded. "It probably is."

They were silent for a few minutes, taking in the first moments of their newfound singleness.

Finally, Renée said, "So Rose is back, then?"

"She never left, actually. She stayed here over Christmas to take care of me."

Renée gave a small smile. "That's good of her."

"Yes. It's very good of her. I don't know what I would have done."

"She's a wonderful flatmate," Renée said.

"She is," James agreed, and then remembered what he'd been trying to tell Renée last week. "I kissed her," he said. "Well, snogged, more like. At the wedding reception. That's what I was trying to say last time we talked, before I– you know."

Renée raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter to me now. I certainly won't hold it against you. Will you two be together now, then?"

"No. I was a bit of a prick to her in the aftermath. She forgave me, but… I don't know. We're friends."

"Yes. You certainly are." She smiled again, a bit sadly, then stood up. "You look tired, James. Get some rest over the holiday, I'll see you back at school next semester."

"See you," he said, a bit stunned. It was all over, just like that. No row, no raised voices. Just a quiet conversation in his sitting room. He stood and walked her to the door in a daze.

She hesitated in the doorway. "Goodbye, James," she said. "I hope you're happy with her."

Before he could reply she turned and walked towards the lift. He closed the door and curled up on the sofa again, afghan snugly around his shoulders, staring into space and trying not to think about anything in particular.

Rose found him in the same position ten minutes later when she returned from Tesco's.

"It's over," he said.

"I'm sorry." She hesitated. "Was it because–"

"No. We decided there was simply nothing left. It was probably a long time coming."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. It was the right thing to do. Just tired now, I guess."

Rose nodded. "Go to sleep. I'll put some more soup on the stove for when you wake up."

"I'm tired of soup," he grumbled, pulling the afghan over his head.

"It's good for you," she said. He could hear her smiling. She leaned over and ruffled his hair, and for a moment he was back in the hotel parlor at Martha's wedding reception, watching her laugh at their game and her dress reflecting the moonlight. He blinked and he was back under the afghan, but he had a huge smile on his face that he couldn't explain.

* * *

"I'm going Mum and Dad's today," Rose announced the following morning.

James glanced at her over a cup of tea with honey. "Really." He tried to keep his face blank. He knew this would happen eventually. He tried not to be disappointed. Despite his illness, he'd been enjoying his days spent with Rose. It was certainly preferable to the loneliness he was expecting. But he remembered it was already the 28th, and she should get see her family.

"Yes, well, your temperature hasn't been above 38 for twenty-four hours, you're out of bed before noon, and your cough is… not worse. I can probably leave you alone for a while. I'll be back tomorrow. D'you think you'll survive?" She gave him her cheeky tongue-in-teeth smile.

James rolled his eyes. "I'll manage."

"I believe in you," Rose said, shrugging on her coat. "I bought more cough medicine, it's right there on the counter if you need it."

"Rose, I'll be fine. Just go."

"I'm going!" She gave him another wide smile before grabbing her overnight bag and heading out the door.

James looked around the empty flat and wondered what he was going to do with himself today.

* * *

He eventually decided to start marking the forty exams he'd given before the holiday, but thirty minutes in he had a headache and his cough was back so he took some of the medicine Rose had purchased. He discovered it made him drowsy, so he gave up on the exams and stretched out on the sofa, thinking petulantly that he would feel better if Rose was around.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he was ripped out of a confusing dream in which he and Rose were being chased by giant metal soldiers by the buzzer from the front of the building. It was being pressed rather impatiently multiple times in rapid succession, so he stumbled over to the door as quickly as he could to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Merry Christmas, Spaceman!"

"Donna?" He felt a smile creep over his face.

"Who else, dumbo? Rose tells me you're well enough for visitors so I thought I'd bring over the whole gang. Now let us up, it's bloody freezing out here!"

James laughed and let them in. Three minutes later, Donna burst into the flat followed closely by Lee, Sylvia, and Wilf. She caught him in a crushing hug that had him staggering backwards.

"Merry Christmas, James," she said into his shoulder. "It wasn't the same without you."

"I'm sorry I missed it," he said. "I can assure you I would've rather spent the holiday differently as well."

Donna broke away to help Lee with their bags in the kitchen and he was faced with Sylvia, who immediately started fussing. "Oh, James you look terrible! Are you sure you're okay? You feel warm–"

James pushed his mother's hands away from his face. "Calm down, Mum, I'm fine. Much better than a few days ago, trust me."

"Well excuse me for caring! We were all so worried when Donna told us you couldn't join us in Chiswick. And for you to be ill on Christmas! You poor thing, that must have been absolutely miserable."

"It was, a bit," he admitted. "But Rose stayed here, she took care of me. It could have been worse."

"Well your Rose is a right saint," Sylvia said. "Sacrificing her Christmas like that. Donna tells me she just went to see her mum and dad today! I hope you thanked her because that girl must love you and no mistake."

James reddened at her choice of words. "She's not _my_ Rose," he muttered.

Sylvia shrugged and waved her hand carelessly. _Of course she is_.

James rolled his eyes and turned to his grandfather. "Hello, Wilf." He gathered the old man in a gentle hug, fondly pulling off his red beanie. "It's great to see you. I'm so sorry I missed Christmas."

"Oh, James it's quite all right. As long as you're on the mend, then?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"Excellent. We can have a perfectly lovely Christmas today, all together. Donna's calling it a make-up Christmas. Your mother even made a wonderful stew with the leftovers from the roast turkey."

James sighed. "Great. More soup."

Wilf chuckled. "Cheer up. I brought you dessert, as well."

James perked up. "Dessert?"

His grandfather winked. "Your favorite banana nut biscuits. If you're good I'll make sure your mother forgets the tin on her way out."

* * *

The rest of the day was thoroughly enjoyable. James was regaled with the harrowing tale of Donna's attempt at roast vegetables:

"I have never known anyone to so completely burn the courgettes! I'm just lucky I had Lee doing the mashed potatoes, because I'm sure your sister would have found a way to mess those up as well," Sylvia said.

"Oi! No one missed those courgettes, there were three other vegetable dishes besides that one," Donna protested.

Sylvia ignored her. "She's lucky she married a decent cook, I don't know what she'd do otherwise."

Gifts were exchanged over turkey stew (which James had to admit was rather tasty) and Sylvia's ranting followed by Donna and Wilf's muttered quips made him laugh so hard he coughed. Of course, this caused no end of fussing and before the soup dishes were cleared up his forehead had been felt no less than five times, the heat in the flat had been turned up to 25 and he was practically forced back onto the sofa when he tried to stand to help in the kitchen. Wilf and Lee volunteered in his place, which left him and Donna in the sitting room amid torn wrapping paper.

"I suppose Rose was in on this the whole time, wasn't she?" he said.

"Of course she was," said Donna. "She wouldn't have left you alone otherwise. She wanted to tell you we were coming over, but I insisted it be a surprise."

"Thank you." He smiled. "This has been really fun. I forgot how much I missed seeing you all."

"We missed you too, Spaceman," Donna said. "It really was a disappointment you couldn't be with us on the day. I haven't seen you since Martha's wedding. And what happened at the reception anyway? I barely saw you at all, and towards the end you were acting weird. Well, weirder than normal."

James rolled his eyes. "Nothing much. Rose and I skipped out on the beginning, is all."

"You were with _Rose_? Did something happen?"

"No! Well, yes. We kissed, but–"

" _What_? Who kissed whom? What happened afterwards? Are you two _together_ now? What about Renée? James, why don't you ever tell me anything?"

"Donna, it was nothing! I kissed her, then Renée texted and I felt bad so I was a prat and pushed Rose away, made her think it was her fault."

"And she still stayed here and took care of you over Christmas, didn't she. Mum's right, she _is_ a saint."

"She is. And I don't care what she says, I'll owe her for years to come for everything she's done for me this past week."

"I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to her," Donna winked.

"Oh, please don't start. I've barely been single for a day."

Donna nodded like she expected this. "Did she dump you for snogging Rose, then?"

"No, it wasn't because of Rose at all."

Donna raised her eyebrows. "Sure it wasn't."

"I'm telling you Donna, _it wasn't_. Rose had nothing to do with it. We just realized we had drifted apart. There was't anything between us anymore."

Donna shook her head. "Whatever you say, Spaceman. All I'm saying is there's a reason that you and Renée drifted apart."

James didn't have an answer for her. He remembered Rose on Christmas Eve, _I want to be your friend_. Then he looked over to the door and remembered what Renée said the day before, _I hope you're happy with her_. But he couldn't quite bring himself to think about what she meant.


	9. New Year's Resolutions

_"_ Listen up, everyone! I got expensive champagne and a case of beer. It's December 31st and are we going to celebrate the arrival of the New Year or what?"

Rose closed the door behind Jack and frowned. "We're not going to spend New Year's Eve freezing up on the roof this year," she said. "James is still getting over his 'flu."

"Rose, I'm fine," James said from the sofa, where he was hunched over the coffee table marking exams.

Rose pursed her lips. "James, I know you've recovered quickly but it's supposed to be below freezing tonight and the air is really dry. I'm just worried it'll irritate your cough."

James sighed. "There's no need to worry, I'm barely coughing anymore. I'm fine– Rose, look at me." She looked. "I'm _fine_."

"He says he's fine, Rosie, come on!" Jack said. "I've invited Donna and Lee and Mickey and Martha are back from their honeymoon– the gang will be all together for the first time since the summer."

"I'm sure we've gotten together since then," James said.

"Yeah, maybe, but only for wedding stuff," Jack said. "This is going to be just us, just like last year."

Rose felt her face get hot. Last year, it had been a campaign of Jack's at New Year's Eve to get her and James to kiss, made more awkward by the fact that James was with Renée at the time. Now that he wasn't… well it was still awkward. They hadn't talked about it in detail, but she was pretty sure James thought what happened at the wedding reception was a mistake, and if he thought of it that way, she was determined to do the same. It didn't matter that he had definitely been the one to initiate the kiss and she thought he enjoyed it as much as she did, she'd been hurt before thinking boys' actions meant more than they did. She wasn't going to let one kiss ruin a perfectly good friendship, even if his lips and hair were a soft as she'd always pictured them. Not that she'd thought about it a lot beforehand. Wait, what had Jack been saying?

"James and I are not going to kiss!" she said, a bit louder than she meant to.

Jack blinked. "Umm, okay, I guess I'll be kissing the Doctor then, eh?" He waggled his eyebrows at James.

It was James's turn to blush. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Jack," he muttered, looking suddenly very interested in his exams.

Jack winked. "You don't know what you're missing, Doc." He turned back to Rose. "Come on, sweetheart. The old gang back together, on the roof for New Year's Eve?"

Rose knew the battle was lost. "Fine. But we're not going up until 11:30, and as soon as the fireworks are done, we come back down."

"Deal."

* * *

At 11:15, Rose was leaning against the low wall around the roof, quietly watching an intense game of ninja that was now a contest between Martha, James, and Donna. She'd made James wear two coats before coming up here, the blue beanie Wilf got him for Christmas, and a ridiculously long striped scarf he'd owned for years but never wore ("I gave that thing up in '81" "You were born in '82" "Exactly"). He'd unbuttoned his overcoat and it was flapping in the wind behind him as he dodged Martha and took a swipe at his sister. His height gave him an advantage over the women, but Martha was faster, having eliminated both Mickey and Lee, and Donna hated losing to her younger brother. As usual, Rose had to admire the way he moved. He could be so graceful when he wanted to be. Sometimes she believed his awkwardness had been adopted unconsciously in his teens as some sort of defense mechanism.

"Any New Year's Resolutions, Rosie?" Jack sidled up next to her, two beers in hand.

"The usual." She took one, opened it on the concrete behind her. "Start running again, quit my job, find a good boyfriend so my Mum stops calling me an old maid."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Any you're actually going to accomplish?"

She smiled, shrugged. "Might actually do the running thing. James said he'd do it with me."

"Did he, now?"

"He did, and don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that, like you just did, like you're suggesting something. There's nothing to suggest."

"Wow, Rose, I haven't said anything." Jack took a swig of his beer.

"You don't have to," Rose said, staring resolutely in front of her.

"I know, you make these leaps all on your own," said Jack.

Rose scowled at Jack's verbal trap. Not that this hadn't happened before. No one was better at making her reveal things she didn't want to.

"What's going on, here, then? Rose, if you're worrying about me being cold, I assure you I am completely fine. A little over-heated actually, I think the extra jumper under the coat is a bit much, to be honest. And the scarf, too. Rose, how did you convince me to wear this thing again? I mean, it does have a certain sort of flair but I really don't think it's _me_ , or at least me in this lifetime. In a different lifetime, maybe, if you believe in that kind of thing. Oh, hello, Jack." Rose's frown was no match for James's cheerful babbling and she smiled up at him as he approached her and Jack on the wall, fanning himself with his beanie. His hair was an absolute mess, it looked like he'd been electrocuted, and his cheeks were slightly flushed from the game. The offending scarf hung loose around his neck.

"Hey, Doc, who won?" Jack handed James a beer from the seemingly endless stash in his duffel bag.

"Martha." His smile faded briefly, then came back. "I got Donna, though. I'm pretty sure I'll pay for that later, but it was worth it." He grinned widely at Rose. "Lovely night, then, isn't it?"

"It is." She looked down at her hands. He was actually really fit with that smile and his hair like that. She was having trouble focusing her thoughts.

"Hey, Rose, have you ever tried this?"

She looked up again. When he was in a good mood he was kind of like a puppy starved of attention. Damn. That wasn't helping her focus.

He shaped his lips into an O and blew over the mouth of his beer bottle, making a low whistling noise.

Rose rolled her eyes at the party trick. "How much of that have you had already? We don't want a repeat of the morning after Mickey's stag night."

"Only half," he said lightly. "And I don't appreciate the implication that I can't hold my liquor. Mickey's stag night involved _whiskey_ , if you recall, and someone convinced me to do shots." He looked pointedly at Jack.

"You're welcome for that, by the way," Jack said. "You were thinking way too much for anyone out on a bar crawl. You were much more fun after those shots. Rose, did you know our good doctor here could sing?"

Rose looked at him doubtfully.

"Oh, yeah, they were doing karaoke. We got him to sing The Proclaimers' _I'm Gonna Be_. He did the Scottish accent, too."

"Really?"

Jack snickered. "It didn't sound half bad, actually."

"I did a semester in Edinburgh," James muttered. He was blushing furiously and staring at the ground.

Rose laughed. "I'll have to hear that some time."

"I have no doubt you will," said Jack. He gave a shout of laughter at Rose's expression and pushed off the wall. He clapped James hard on the shoulder as he strode past to join the rest of the group. James stumbled forward and had to catch himself on the wall, his hands on either side of Rose. Their faces were suddenly so close she could smell his breath– beer and peanuts and a little of the roast chicken Martha had brought for dinner. Rose thought if she inhaled hard enough his lips would be sucked onto hers and they would be kissing again. The moonlight wasn't quite as magical tonight but she was sure his lips would feel the same, and his hair would be just as soft–

He pushed away with one hand and leaned next to her on the wall.

She breathed out. Crisis averted. Real New Year's resolution: stop thinking inappropriate things about her flatmate.

They watched their friends take turns on the telescope, arguing over how to properly focus and what to focus on.

Rose looked behind her at the sky. "Not a great night for stargazing, is it?" she said.

James shrugged. "Not really. A tad cloudy, perhaps. But they seem to be having fun. They don't get to use it as often as we do."

Rose smiled. "I'm the lucky one, I guess."

"Of course you are," James said. "You're Rose Tyler, and you're _brilliant_." He shifted slightly closer to her so their arms were touching.

The contact was very light, could easily have been interpreted as friendly, but an unruly part of Rose's mind always imagined that when he did things like this it meant something _more_ , that there really was something there between them, she wasn't just imagining it.

The wind picked up. She barely felt it through her two jumpers and winter coat, but he shivered and put his hat back on. As he was closing his own coat again, she gave in to her urge to take care of him and, encouraged by their earlier contact, took his scarf and gently wrapped it around his neck.

"Thank you," he murmured. "You always take care of me, Rose."

"Well, someone has to," she said.

He shook his head. "No they don't," he said. "No one _cares_ like you do, Rose."

"I'm sure that's not true." He should really stop saying things like that. It wasn't good for her imagination.

He shook his head again. "No, it is. What you did for me over Christmas… everyone thinks you're a saint for it. Their words. A _saint_. And I never properly thanked you."

She shrugged modestly. "You didn't see yourself, James. Only someone with no heart whatsoever would have left you alone like that. And I'm sure you thanked me." The words had definitely been uttered at some point.

"Well, maybe I did," he conceded. "But it bears repeating anyway." He turned and met her eyes. "Rose Tyler, _thank you_ for staying with me while I was sick over Christmas, even though I'd been a prat to you, even though you didn't get to see your family until three days afterwards. It meant– it _means_ so much to me. Getting ill– that just seemed the culmination of a really rubbish couple of days– well, a kind of a rubbish month, actually– and the fact that you were there with me– well, you just have to know how much I appreciate it– how much I appreciate _you_ – for that. So thank you." He was panting a little at the end.

She could only blink in surprise for a couple seconds. She hadn't realized he felt that way about it. On her end, she'd meant what she said that night in the bathroom. He'd needed someone there for him. So she'd stayed. "I–um– you're welcome." She wished she could be as eloquent as he was. She gave a small smile. "It was no problem. Christmas day was actually quite nice."

He smiled back, and looked like he might have said something else, but Jack called out, "Hey lovebirds, I'm about to open the champagne! We've got three minutes 'till we ring in the new year!"

Rose rolled her eyes but walked over to where Jack was keeping the expensive champagne on ice. He poured each of them a glass and they used his scarily accurate watch to count down the seconds until the fireworks burst over the London skyline. They raised their glasses and toasted loudly to the new year.

"May it be better than the last," Rose said.

James looked over and gave her a wide, confident smile. "Rose Tyler," he said. "I think you're going to have a really great year."


	10. Complicated

In the new year, James and Rose found themselves best friends again, best friends who found every excuse to hug, could stay up for hours at night talking, and who occasionally shared the afghan on the sofa while watching crap weekend telly. He was trying to teach her how to cook, citing the fact that she was turning thirty this year and couldn't possibly leave her twenties knowing only pasta, stir fry, chicken soup, and takeaway. Of course, his own culinary repertoire was rather limited, but he thought expanding her skills to include banana cupcakes, grilled cheese, taco salad, and meatloaf was well worth hours spent in the kitchen with her laughing over the mess and ordering takeaway when things went pear-shaped. It seemed like he was spending less and less time away from her, opting to stay in most evenings, coming to meet her at work in the afternoons after school. It felt like the average distance between them was closing.

 _But that's okay,_ he thought. _She's my best friend, of course I feel comfortable around her, of course I want to spend time with her_.

 _Are you sure?_ his inner Donna remarked.

 _Yes,_ James told her. _She's my flatmate and best friend, a wonderful, brilliant best friend. But that's all. Just a friend._

* * *

"I'm telling you, she's not just a friend," the real Donna said over a pint at the beginning of February. It was one of her New Year's Resolutions. After his lack of communication through the Renée drama and further drama with Rose during the wedding, she resolved to make him go for a drink with her every two weeks at the very least so she could get him to tell her everything going on in his life. In other words, a fantastic excuse and opportunity to pry.

"I'm telling you, she is," James said stubbornly. "And I would know more about it than you, wouldn't I."

"Would you, though?" said Donna. "For someone so bloody clever you can be remarkably thick sometimes."

"I am bloody clever, thank you, I have a doctorate" James muttered, choosing to ignore the back half of her statement.

"She's just your type," Donna said. He knew she was trying to provoke him. It still worked.

"I don't have a type."

Donna nearly choked. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Let's go through them, shall we? It's not that many. There was Astrid in secondary school, Joan in university, Renée last year. James, everyone you've ever seriously dated has been blonde and boringly pretty."

"First of all, that's only three women, and how can anyone be 'boringly' pretty?'"

Donna snorted. "The fact that you've only ever seriously dated three women is another thing all together. And you know what I mean by 'boringly pretty.' Face it, James, you have a type."

"What about Christina?"

Donna gave a shout of laughter. "Christina? Martha's uni roommate? She shoved her phone number at you at the wedding and you promptly lost it. Tell me, what was her last name?"

James scowled. He could remember this. Easy. "del Monte."

Donna rolled her eyes. "de Souza. It was de Souza, you numpty. You were never that interested, you were just trying to be nice. Now admit you like blondes."

"Maybe the fact that I've only ever dated blondes means that I need to branch out," James argued.

"Or maybe it means you have a type."

"I don't have a type."

"Whatever makes you feel better," Donna shrugged. "And even if Rose wasn't totally your type, you still can't just be friends with her."

"And why not?"

"Have you ever seen _When Harry met Sally_?"

"Is that American? That sounds American."

"It is, and you should see it."

"Oh, I think I have. Joan made me watch it in uni. It's the ' _Men and women can't be friends_ ' film. Which I disagree with on principle because it assumes that men are completely licentious beings who think about nothing but sex whenever they look at a woman. Anyway, aren't we a little old to be taking advice from romantic comedies?"

"Stop deflecting, James, you know what I'm getting at."

James turned suddenly and faced his sister. "Yes, I do, and I'd like you to stop it. I can't– I don't actually want to think about this too hard right now. The last month with Renée, despite the anticlimactic ending, was awful. I don't ever want to be in that kind of state of limbo ever again. And there were all sorts of confusing things happening with Rose at the same time and I just– I don't know anything anymore. The only thing I _do_ know, Donna, is that Rose and I are friends, she just might be the best friend I've ever had, and I'm not giving that up for anything." He was panting a little by the end, and his chest felt tight. This was _true_ , he was convinced. So why did it feel like his heart was breaking?

For once in her life Donna looked properly speechless. "I–I'm sorry, James. Really. I just– I want you to be happy."

"I know. It's okay, Donna. It's fine. I just– if I do anything and I'm not sure about her, or I'm not sure about myself, I can't go back after that. I can never go back. I just can't. And I can't lose Rose as a friend." He tried to take a stiff swig of beer, but it tasted all wrong now and he pushed it away.

He felt Donna's hand gently on his shoulder. "I know you're afraid, James. But I've never known you to be a coward."

* * *

He didn't drink any more that night, but he stilled stumbled into flat like he was pissed out of his mind. All the lights were off, Rose must have gone to bed. _Rose_. Suddenly his bedroom seemed too far and he slumped onto the sofa, head in his hands. He heard footsteps, and the hall light clicked on. He looked up wearily to see Rose pad into the sitting room and sit next to him. She looked sad. And concerned. Of course. Rose was always concerned for him, because she _cared_ so much.

"What's wrong?" The flat was chilly tonight, and she was just in her vest top. She had her arms crossed and shoulders hunched for warmth, and it made her look scared and vulnerable and damn if that image didn't make his heart break all over again.

"Rose, I'm sorry," he whispered. He didn't raise his head, didn't look at her.

"For what?"

"For… I don't know. For a lot of things, I think."

"What things?"

He turned to look at her. She was looking at him, and she still looked sad. He hated seeing her sad, he realized. _Hated_ it. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably and all his muscles screamed to move toward her, to do _something_. He must have moved unconsciously because he couldn't explain how it happened, but suddenly the distance between them closed and they were kissing again– longer and slower than it had been at the wedding. His hands rested gently on her waist and hers were on his shoulders. She tasted like toothpaste and smelled like coconut lotion and _Rose_ and _home_.

She pulled away from him suddenly, held him at arm's length. "James, what are we doing?"

He blinked back at her. Wasn't it obvious what they were doing?

She shook her head at his silence. "We can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

" _This_ ," she gestured vaguely between them. "We can't keep throwing ourselves at each other when we're scared or sad or lonely."

James sighed and ran his hands through his hair. She was right, of course. And he felt like a prat, but why couldn't things just be simple for once?

Rose sounded frustrated with him. "James, we're _flatmates_ , we have to live together. Our relationship needs to be more stable than that."

"Why?" He sounded whiny and childish and he knew it but he couldn't help it.

"Because we live together!" she said. "And I just– _I_ need that to be a stable relationship. I've made… mistakes. Before."

There it was. That pain from a long time ago he saw after their first fight last November. He cringed at the thought that he'd been the one to bring it out again with his selfishness and thoughtlessness. "I'm so sorry, Rose. For being confused and not thinking about that you want or what you feel. You're right. We should stop. _I_ should stop. It's not right, and it's not fair to you."

Rose sighed. "It's all right, James. It's just– we're flatmates and I like you but I don't want things to be… complicated."

"Complicated?"

Rose took a deep breath. "James, Shareen lived here before you, but I moved in here originally with my boyfriend."

He didn't say anything, so she continued, "I was twenty-six, I'd just gotten my first steady job in London, I was eager to get off the estate. I didn't think it through. I thought it would be wonderful." She paused. "But it was the wrong decision. It didn't work out."

She went quiet again, and James assumed the worst. "Did he–"

"No, but I didn't like living together. I wanted to move out but I couldn't afford to without moving back in with my parents, and Tony was four and there was no extra money. So I was stuck with him. It was something he held over my head– that I couldn't leave. But he left me anyway after three months. Moved out to go to France with his band and left me with the rent. I would have been evicted if it hadn't been for Jack, who lent me the money for those three months and then some. Basically until Shareen's salon started making money and she could move in with me. I only finished paying him back just before you moved in." She hesitated. "What I'm saying is, we already live together, and I'm not sure I want to… ruin that."

"Right," James said lamely. That was a terrible thing to happen to her, and he already hated the man responsible. He wanted to say more, but he couldn't organize his thoughts.

Rose looked at him searchingly. "So… are we okay then?"

"Yes." Of course they were okay.

"Okay," said Rose. "Goodnight, James." She stood and went back into her room.

 _Wait, what did I just agree to?_ James felt his heart lurch as she left. "Rose, I–"

Her bedroom door closed and he stopped.

His head fell into his hands as he realized what he'd been about to say, because he'd lied to Donna without realizing it. He did know. _Rose, I love you_.


	11. The Longest Day

Donna was wrong. He was a coward. He was a coward who managed to fall in love with his flatmate and then accidentally agreed to remain just friends with her. He was tempted to return to the strategy of avoidance employed by both of them after their fight over Renée, but Rose seemed to consider the matter settled and was acting as if nothing had happened. He didn't want to offend her by becoming distant. Not that he really wanted to become distant anyway, given how absolutely head-over-heels he realized he was. He couldn't so much as think about her without smiling, which meant he looked like he was in an excellent mood all the time, despite the turmoil that kept him up at night and distracted at work.

He tried to act as unaffected as Rose, but found it rather difficult to not notice things like her tongue touching her teeth when she was teasing him, and how her shampoo smelled like lavender but her lotion smelled like coconut. It was also hard to ignore the way he reacted to her. His face heated up when she smiled at him for too long, and there was a pleasant swoopy feeling in his chest when she laughed.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on his state of mind), during the next week and a half they each spent relatively little time at the flat. The semester picked up at school and James stayed late most days holding extended office hours and tutoring sessions. Rose suddenly found herself struggling under the firm's pre-Valentine's day rush, working on designs for various print ads and holiday promotions. Even when they were both home, Rose was often in her bedroom on her laptop and James was marking assignments in the sitting room, the telly on low in front of him.

Sometimes Rose would wander through close to midnight for coffee if she was planning to stay up late. On February 12th, James was mostly ignoring the 11 o'clock news.

 _Tomorrow, London is expected to be hit with one of the biggest storm systems this year, with predictions as high as 40 centimeters in 24 hours. This would be a record amount of snow since–_ James rolled his eyes and muted the nightly news anchor.

Rose protested. "Wait, that could have been important."

James didn't look up from his students' latest lab reports. "It'll be fine. They always over-hype these things to drum up views. It's not like anyone actually watches it anymore, anything on telly you can get more conveniently on the internet. And _please_ , 40 centimeters? I'll be surprised if there's 14."

Rose huffed. "Whatever. If the buses are stopped tomorrow and we can't get to work, I'm reserving the right to say _I told you so_."

"Go ahead," James said. "You're worrying over nothing." He never looked up from the lab reports, and if asked he would say it was because this particular student needed to spend some quality time with a dictionary. However, he knew that it was actually because he found the vest tops Rose wore to bed quite distracting and the way her hair tended to fall out of its loose bun when she was working then gently tease her neck and ears was really very–

He shook his head. This is what he meant. Distracting.

* * *

"I told you so."

James was rudely awoken the following morning to Rose tossing her mobile on his chest. He blinked groggily and squinted at the screen. _London weather live update: Before 7am nearly 4 centimeters of snow have piled up on the streets of London with no signs of slowing down. Streets remain hazardous despite efforts to clear them. People are advised not to travel until the snow can be removed._

"The buses have stopped," Roes said. She plucked the mobile from his hands and performed a quick internet search. "And the academy is closed. Even the firm is letting me off because of the official travel advisory, so we're stuck here today."

She flounced out of his bedroom and James was tempted to roll over and scream into his pillow in frustration. He could not spend a full day trapped in the flat with Rose. He hadn't done so since _that_ night. Not even on the weekend, when she'd gone into work to finish her projects. This was going to be the longest day of his life.

* * *

He decided to settle in for The Longest Day with cold cereal and the lab reports from the night before. Rose stayed in her bedroom for most of the morning on her laptop so he had the sitting room all to himself. He turned the telly on mute to the news and glanced up every once in awhile to marvel at the sheer amount of snow being dumped on the city. He wondered if they would even get to work tomorrow. This was looking like more snow than London usually got in a year.

Nonetheless, James passed the morning in a dull, bored haze. The flat was completely silent for a solid three and half hours save for the shuffling of papers and the occasional noise from Rose's bedroom. It wasn't until James was chewing on a lackluster lunch of canned tuna on toast that Rose emerged from her room.

"I'm bored," she announced. "I've done practically all the work I can from home, read and re-read my latest issue of _Layers_ , caught up on all my favorite youtube channels and I'm going stir-crazy."

James blinked a couple of times. To be honest, he was feeling the cabin fever a bit himself but hadn't the slightest idea of how to alleviate it. And even if he did, he'd be rather hesitant to suggest it lest she think he was coming onto her again. Which he would never do intentionally, of course, but given recent realizations he didn't quite trust himself to maintain perfect control over what came out of his mouth.

Rose waited awhile for him to say something. When he didn't, she supplied, "Fancy a game of snap?"

"Sure."

* * *

Three games of snap later, Rose was the undeniable victor ("Ha! I win!" "Best two out of three." "Sore loser, I'll just beat you again." … "Best three out of five.") and they were yet again staring blankly at each other across the coffee table, James's mobile softly playing music between them. Well, James was doing his best to stare blankly. He was thinking that it was looking quite blustery outside and it would be quite nice to cuddle under the afghan with Rose tucked under his arm. He pressed his lips together, determined not to say anything. It was awkward. He hated feeling awkward with Rose.

And then, quite suddenly, it wasn't awkward. And James would be forever grateful to Slash and Axl Rose for the opening riff of _Sweet Child O' Mine_. In perfect synchronicity, as if they'd planned it, he and Rose began nodding their heads in time to the music. Then singing along. Then they were both standing on the coffee table holding fake microphones (him a screwdriver and her a hairbrush) and belting out the chorus for all they were worth.

They were flushed and panting when it was over and James felt so happy in that moment he could have kissed Rose, standing close in front of him on the coffee table, chest heaving and beaming at him. But she quickly turned and picked up his mobile, typing in his passcode because of _course_ she knew it as well as her own and picked another song. James groaned when he heard the opening, but he didn't stop smiling. He didn't think that was possible at this point.

"Come on, Jack heard it. It's only fair," Rose said. She hopped off the coffee table and held out her hand. " _When I wake up–_ "

James took it. " _Well, I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you._ " He did his best Scottish accent, just to see if it would make her smile wider.

It did. " _When I go out,_ "

" _Yeah, I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you_." He never let go of her hand and started marching in time to the beat.

They traded lines until the chorus, which they sang together, " _But would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more, just to be the man who'd walk 1000 miles to fall down at your door!_ "

 _And I would_ , James thought. He gripped her hand tighter, thinking he might fly off this earth if he let go, that she was the only thing keeping him on the ground. _I would do nearly anything for you._

Their march led them several times around the sitting room and eventually through every room in the flat, but they ended on Rose's bed, which had a box spring, and their marching devolved into jumping up and down on it like children as the last lines of the song faded on James's mobile. They collapsed breathless onto the bed next to each other.

"Jack undersold you," Rose said, tongue in her teeth. "You're a rather brilliant singer."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're an _absolutely_ brilliant singer."

She blushed.

"No really," he said. "Have you ever heard yourself? You could make a career out of that. Ever talked to any major record labels? I really think–"

Then she kissed him, and he was breathless all over again for a totally different reason. All other thoughts fled his mind and he wrapped his arms around to pull her closer. A thrill when through him when he felt her arms around him as well, and he was pretty sure he would be happy if they stayed like that forever. London could completely buried in snow and he wouldn't care.

He was deathly afraid she would push him away again when they finally came up for air but to his relief she tightened her grip and buried her face in his shoulder. "Has anyone ever told you," he murmured in her ear, "That you're also an absolutely brilliant kisser."

"I'm so sorry for what I said last week," she said. "I'm sorry I was scared. I'm sorry I didn't see that you're worth it."

"I wasn't," he said. "You were right. I was sad and scared and lonely. Both times. And I didn't consider your feelings before, I just did what I wanted so I could feel better." He kissed her again. "But this is different, because I know that you're happy, and you want this too." He looked at her hopefully for confirmation.

She kissed him back. "I am happy. Very happy."

"Good." He paused. "Purely out of curiosity, you don't have to answer if you don't want– but what changed your mind?" He couldn't help but wonder what changed in that week and a half.

Rose gave a small shrug. "I missed you."

Her hand found his face and he held it there. "I didn't go anywhere."

Her thumb brushed his cheek. "I know. But we were working so much. And every time I stayed late at the office, or when I went in on the weekend, all I could think about was running back to the flat so I could see you before you went to bed. Because any day where I don't get to see you, spend time with you is– is a bad day. Even if it's a good day otherwise."

She was looking sad again, so he kissed her again. "Well, Rose Tyler," he said. He loved saying her name, loved the way it rolled off his tongue. "I promise that you'll never have a bad day again as long as I'm around."

There was a lot more kissing after that, and James knew that this was different. He had never felt like this before, not with Astrid, not with Joan, not with Renée. For the next twenty-four hours, every time he saw her, every time they touched, every time they kissed, he could feel the serotonin lighting up his brain, a ridiculous grin spreading across his face. He could imagine traveling the universe with Rose, just them with all of space and time at their fingertips. He could imagine forever with her.

* * *

Eighteen months later, James was dancing to the Beatles' _In My Life_ at his wedding, and he remembered Martha and Mickey's first dance, and Donna and Lee's. And he believed he finally understood the looks on their faces. They were in a room full of people– all their friends and family and the people they cared about most. But it hardly mattered, because he had just married Rose, his flatmate and best friend and companion, and all he could look at or think about was her. The flowers in her hair were wilting in the August heat, and her makeup was a bit runny because she'd cried during the ceremony, but her smile filled her whole face and with her arms around him he felt like he could never be lost.

He leaned down, brushed his lips across her cheek, and whispered, "Rose Tyler, I know we've just been married, but please tell me again– how long are you going to stay with me?"

"Forever." She kissed his cheek in return and he could feel her breath on his ear.

He kissed her lips, heard the snap of the photographer in the background, and then whispered in return, "Forever."

* * *

The End

 **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited, and even if you did none of those things but stuck with it to the end. Your support means so much and really kept me focused and motivated, so I hope you all enjoyed the result. I definitely enjoyed writing it.**

 **A playlist of songs I used as inspiration for this piece has been posted on my profile if you're interested.**

 **If you liked this Doctor Who AU, check out my other one, To Get Across this Universe**


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